


Fingertips Blue

by Bonnie (PirateFox)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: BUT they are very soft the whole story, Caleb Widogast's Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Pre-Canon, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Seriously they don't kiss until the very end, Slow Burn, They/Them Pronouns for Mollymauk Tealeaf, mostly comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28225632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PirateFox/pseuds/Bonnie
Summary: Before the Mighty Nein, before Trostenwald, there is just Bren. Or what is left of Bren. Cold and alone, he stumbles through the world, until one unfortunate encounter pushes him towards greener pastures.orCaleb and Molly meet way before Trostenwald. They are soft.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 105
Kudos: 256





	1. Charred Up and Wasted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting and a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes before we begin!
> 
> I started listening to Critical Role during quarantine. I am caught up with Campaign 2 now (haven’t even touched Campaign 1) but when I started outlining this I was in the middle of episode 60 something? A lot has happened, huh? This is all prequel, so the recent goings on don’t affect me much, but still. Just. Wow. 
> 
> I altered the timeline just a little bit to make things fit. This begins about two years before the start of the campaign. At the start of this story, Caleb has been out of the asylum for about a year and a half. Molly has been Molly for about a year, I’d say. All that is a little hazy, but it works for me. Also, I have no beta, so please excuse any mistakes, english isn't my first language.
> 
> Last thing! The title of this fic, as well as the chapters, are all from a song! Noel Shiri’s Sweeter, Cleaner, Greener! Nothing to do with plot but it was a mood.
> 
> Be nice to me, I’m soft, thanks!
> 
> EDIT: Beta read by Chai_Teafling :)

_833 P.D.  
Winter._

Bren felt himself drift.

Alley to alley. Gutter to gutter. He was in a search for something, anything, that would allow him just one more spark. That long-gone ember that his mind refused to let fade away. What it was, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps something arcane in nature, or maybe something as simple as a will, or a hope. Something utterly mundane and perfectly mortal and living. Just enough to keep him walking, that was all he asked.

Most times he just felt like a thing. Not even animal, not even once-alive. Just a thing. His memory continued to remind him that he _was_ a person _._ He had been born, he had had parents and friends and pets. There had been a home once, days of playing in the field, days of studying inside. He had lived once. He _was_ alive still, somehow. And yet.

The dissonance was no help at all.

Closing his eyes and leaning against a nearby wall, he thought of long-gone warmth. Of hands, years ago turned to ash, ruffling his hair. Scruffy hair, now nothing but smoke, tickling his nose, as he was carried over shoulders. Rows and rows and rows of wheat and corn, as far as his eyes could see. The sun beating down, warming his skin, too much perhaps, to the point of painful soreness the next day.

All he had now was chilly wind, that seemed to go all the way through his bones, and a damp, sorry excuse of a coat.

Bad luck shouldn’t have surprised him, but he could not help the gasp that escaped his lips as he was pulled into a small alcove between two rickety, old buildings. Rough hands pulled at his arms, and he was slammed against a painfully solid brick wall, hard enough to stun. He wobbled, dangerously weak after a few days with barely scraps to eat.

“Ach, why did you grab this one?” someone was whispering harshly. A man. Big. Too big, his accent heavy and slurred. Drunk, then. “Filth, looks like he ain’t got shite on him!”

“How was I supposed to know?” A shorter, muscular man, the one holding him against the wall looked at him with a mix of disgust and pure disdain. “Just grabbed the first fucker that I could reach!”

They started squabbling then, about mistakes and lost opportunities and the question _what now?_ came multiple times. Bren was many things. Many terrible, useless things, but he was not stupid. He still knew how desperate, angry men looked. So, despite his better judgement, he cleared his throat, loud enough to call the men to attention.

“I do not want any trouble.” he tried, lifting his hands in a show of harmlessness. He truly doubted he could fight back, even if he wanted to, barely able to stand and shaking from the cold, hands too unsteady for even a simple cantrip “I don’t have anything, like you say. I could just walk away and you may try someone else?” His voice was soft, as soothing as he could muster and just loud enough for them to hear. “I won’t even get in your way. I’ll walk right off. Right out of town.”

The men scoffed. Bren knew it wasn’t working. They looked neither convinced, nor calm. Annoyed was a better descriptor. _Prey who speak out of turn are nothing but trouble,_ a familiar voice whispered in his ear. “You just want to go tattle to a city guard, don’t you, filth?”

He shook his head, too quick, too carelessly, lifting his hands a little higher. “Even if I did, would the city guard care about me?” He did a show of pointing to himself, his dirty face, disgusting clothes. “Let us be logical about this, gentlemen. Of course they would not, anyone can see that, _ja_?”

That was his last mistake.

They were angry, he could tell. Perhaps he had sounded mocking? He hadn’t even tried to diffuse the situation that much, if he was being honest with himself, so the first blow didn’t surprise him. The second and third, all the way to the fifth, were to be expected as well. But by the tenth, he was afraid. When he couldn’t count anymore, when he felt a kick and a crunch against his leg, when he fell to the ground, he didn’t know what to feel anymore.

They were laughing in the end. Rummaging through his pockets, then cursing and spitting when they came out empty-handed, save for a single copper. He truly had nothing, after all. One last kick to his gut and push that sent him rolling into a nearby gutter and they were gone.

Bren felt himself drift.

He was alone, with nothing but his coat and the chill of the wind again. Everything hurt and his once-damp coat was now soaking with dirty, stagnant water. He was freezing. He could not move. Could not will himself to move. Would not make the effort. A single thought came to his head: someone was going to have their day ruined by finding his corpse in the morning.

 _Good riddance,_ they would say.

He thought up a detailed scenario: a young man walking to work, tripping on his frozen arm and falling on his face. Perhaps an old lady would try to remove by shoving him with a broom. Would the city guard be called? Or just a disposal service? Would he be buried in a potter’s field, nameless? Perhaps burnt to ash in a communal pyre? That would be the most ironic outcome, wouldn’t it?

Belatedly, he questioned himself. Was he really not going to stand up? At least try to crawl? _No_ , he told himself. _This is the kind of outcome you deserve._ At the very least, he allowed himself to lament the fact that he was lying on his front, forehead against the edge of the sidewalk. Had he been lying on his back, he could’ve at least passed away trying to find stars between the heavy clouds.

Not even that he deserved, it seemed.

Instead, he thought of warmth again. The terrible, searing kind this time. He thought of fire, of charring flesh and burning hair. Screams. Tears boiling off his cheeks. Crackling wood. Burning grass. Thumps against a door. Desperate pleas. Shrieks of pain. Then silence.

His fingers were freezing. Breathing was pain.

 _Good_. His eyes stung, so he closed them.

Bren faded.

* * *

The first thing Bren noticed, before even opening his eyes, was that he was not cold. He was in pain, yes, but it was more of a dull ache than the burning throb it had been. And thinking better about it, not only was he not cold, he was warm. Hot, even. There was a weight and a softness over him that he eventually recognized as being buried up to his chin in blankets and pillows.

Slowly, painfully so, Bren opened his eyes, and tried to make sense of it all. There was a canopy over him instead of a solid ceiling. It looked safe enough. Patched in the corner, from what he could see, lovingly and carefully. The covers over him where all kinds of knit and fur and what looked like canvas, folded over and over to make more layers. Someone had improvised.

Strange. It was all too strange.

Who?

And why?

More importantly, _where?_

Outside: light music, some talking. The crackling of a fire put him even more on edge. A horse whinnied and was shushed gently.

With stiff arms, he tried to rise. His legs ached, one felt just wrong, wrong and out of place, but he had to leave, had to get out, had to escape. _Not a sound_ , he told himself. _Not a single groan nor a whine._

Easier said than done.

As he slid out of the covers, trying not to mourn his warm spot, the first warm spot in months, he bit his lip. Everything hurt. He felt like a giant bruise, swollen and tender. The wrongness of his leg made sense the second his foot touched the ground. With a crack, he crumpled to the floor, biting his lip hard, too hard, as to not scream in pain. He tried to stand again, and the panic set in when he realized he couldn’t.

_Trapped._

There was blood in his mouth.

He could not see the fire, but could taste the ash.

He was trapped.

Crippled? No, no. It wasn’t that bad, right? But trapped? Yes, he was trapped. Where was his coat? His books? He looked at his arms. No bandages. Scars glaring at him. This was wrong. Everything was wrong.

He stared at his legs, shaking with pain. He willed them to move. They did not listen.

Wild animals, came to mind, biting and ripping at a trapped leg to free themselves. A couple months ago, he might have done something like that. Lost in that thought, he did not realize how shallow his breathing was or how hard he was shaking, until he felt hands holding his face, and it hurt.

It hurt.

He flinched, pulled himself back, collided with something solid, _more pain_ , and the memory of angry men, cussing and punching and spitting, came to his mind.

“Shit, I’m so sorry…” came a hissed apology. “Alright, friend, don’t panic. No need to panic, yeah? It’s nice and safe here. Nice and warm.” Bren could not bring himself to look at this person, shaking, trying to breathe. Panicking. Absolutely panicking. “I know it hurts. I’m sorry.” The voice was soft. Gentle. He could see knees, lightly scooting forward, towards him, but he was not touched again. Lavender hands came into his vision, gesticulating gently, placating, like one does to an injured feral animal.

“Listen… can you hear me?” A nod, more out of inertia than a wish to communicate. “Alright then. I found you in town, beaten to shit, laying on a gutter. I thought you were dead, you looked so pale. Your lips were blue. So!” He flinched at the louder exclamation. The stranger spoke softer then. “So I brought you here. It’s been a couple days.”

Slowly, very slowly, Bren looked up. A tiefling was looking back at him, lavender skin, red-on-red eyes. Pretty, his mind supplied, and he squashed the thought down. They were smiling gently, but perhaps a little forced. Tight. It still helped Bren breath. Just a little. Enough for everything to start making sense.

His internal clock snapped into place, accurate as always. Too accurate sometimes. Indeed, two days had gone by. Two days of warm, blessed oblivion he did not deserve. He struggled to breathe again.

“Alright, dear. You are doing great.” Hands came closer and he flinched away again. There was a pause at that. Looking at the tiefling, it was easy to see the cogs turning in their head. Bren knew how difficult he was to deal with. Kind souls had found him once or twice before, but had never stuck around after all of his flinching and pushing. He thought the tiefling would do the same. He watched them stand and walk away, out of his field of vision, but he was not left alone. There was rummaging behind him, soft and careful.

They came back soon enough, carrying blankets and pillows from the bed, onto the floor. Carefully, gingerly really, a fur was draped around Bren’s shoulder. “Help me out some, yes?” Bren found himself nodding once again. It was barely a response, but it earned him a smile either way, with too much fang.

Soon enough a literal nest was built around him. Pillows and throw cushions made a soft wall on one end, with the edge of the bed protecting the other. Folded canvas was fashioned to soften the floor, while the remaining fur and blankets were draped over him. There was a moment of tension in which the stranger nearly seemed to plead with him, stray-kitty-eyes and all, to let him touch his shaking leg.

Bren didn’t know it at the moment, but that would be the first of many times he would be unable to decline the stranger’s kindness.

He nodded.

Almost immediately, his leg was straightened into a more relaxed position. “It’s not broken, or anything,” they explained. “But it was bent all wrong. It’s all purple and black and worrying me right now, but I’m told you will heal just fine.”

He nodded once again.

After that, slowly, but surely, he ended curled up into his newly constructed nest, all at once exhausted. The stranger sat next to him, just watching, pupiless eyes hard to read, but expression at peace. “My name is Mollymauk Tealeaf, by the way. Molly to my friends.”

“Caleb,” Bren said, quick and sure. He hadn’t used that one before, but he was used to coming up with aliases on the spot by now. His true name was a curse, after all. “Caleb Widogast.”

Mollymauk smiled, nodding. “Well, Mister Caleb.” Careful not to touch him again, they tucked him in, wool blankets all the way up to his chin, extra furs pooled over his bare feet. Once apparently satisfied with their work, they stood to leave. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Do me a favor and sleep some more, yeah?”

Bren — _Caleb_ — could not bring himself to think about anything else to say. Too much. It was too much, and he was too tired and too warm. Instead, he found himself muttering a quiet ‘ _danke,’_ as his eyes began to slip shut.

They bowed once, with a flourish, and gave him one more look as they walked away, spring in their step and tail swishing from side to side like that of a cat looking for trouble. Confusing was an understatement, but he was so, so tired, he could not bring himself to think anymore.

Bren closed his eyes and faded one last time.

Caleb dreamt of red-on-red eyes.

* * *

When Caleb woke up next, he was still on the floor with even more pillows surrounding him. He found himself stretching, enjoying the warmth under the blankets, then immediately regretting at the protest of his bruised _everything_. Resigned, he turned his head, intending to at least crack a kink in his neck, and was struck by the sight. On his pillow, right next to his head, bright little wild flowers were gathered.

Carefully, he rose to sit, attempting to straighten his spine, but only managing a lazy slouch. He was alone once again, still confused, but the pain had dulled enough that he could think clearly.

He could clearly see the inside of the tent now. There was a bed, which he had been occupying until his apparent choice to move to the floor the night before. Other than that, furniture was scarce. There was a small table with a copper basin on it. Next to it a chair, a small mirror discarded over it. There were ember bottles of some greenish and clear liquids all over that area of the tent, Caleb guessed some sort of cosmetic or oil. Perhaps soaps? It smelled herbal around him.

Draped over the chair was his coat, looking cleaner and fresher than ever — mended, even — and his books rested neatly on the seat, apparently intact. Relief washed over him. Not all was lost.

Other than that, the only thing noteworthy were the tapestries hanging from anywhere that would carry them. Thicker ones had become blankets for his nest, but thin, silky ones — the kind one could use as an artful scarf — still hung from support beams. A couple seemed to function as space dividers, hiding a small corner, perhaps for privacy.

That was when he heard the tent flap and a tiny, startled gasp.

A small girl wearing a ruffly white dress and a thick sweater was looking at him, wide brown eyes and thick golden curls framing her face. She was holding something in her hands, too small to see from where he sat.

Caleb tilted his head, attempting a smile through his confusion. “ _Hallo_?” The girl gasped again, yelped and jumped, and hid behind one of the tapestries hanging from the ceiling beams. Caleb thought of his childhood friends, and how they were not like that at all. No, shyness had always been his thing. He cleared his throat. “I could turn around so I don’t see you?”

Silence hung for a full minute, and then a raspy, polite ‘ _yes, please’_ came from her direction. Caleb turned around, mindful of his leg, so that his back was towards her. He did not want to spook her, so turning around was out of the question, but he listened intently. She threaded lightly, steps barely audible, the only thing giving her away being the rustling of her dress. Caleb waited until the rustling faded away, farther from him, to turn. She was hiding behind the tapestry again. Then he looked down, back to his pillow.

 _Oh_.

There were more flowers beside his pillow. Tiny, little, wild things. The kind that grow either on tall grass or struggling between the cracks on cobblestone roads. Caleb took one, the smallest blue bud, and something in his heart broke, in a strange but good way. The kind that isn’t painful. The kind that makes you feel again. He smiled towards her, genuinely, for the first time in months. Years. “ _Danke_. Ah, thank you very much, miss.”

He heard a little squeak from her direction, followed by a more familiar laugh from farther away. Entering the tent, was Mollymauk Tealeaf, wearing the brightest outfit Caleb had seen in his life. Patterned pants and a coat that looked more like a work in progress than anything else: no inner lining and a very visible mess of threads that he recognized as the backside or a very involved embroidery project.

“Here you are Toya! Came to check on our patient?”

The girl — Toya, apparently — gave a huff. Caleb could not see her, hidden behind a tapestry as she was, but he recognized the sound as that of someone being exposed and not liking it one bit. He did see her, however, run away once her antics had apparently been discovered.

Mollymauk was smiling, watching the girl make her escape. Their smile turned from fondness for the girl to pure relief as they took in the sight of Caleb. In a few, long strides they reached his nest, sinking to their knees in a single motion. “She is quite taken with you, for some reason. She insisted on sharing one of her blankets with you.” They shrugged. “How are you feeling, Mr. Caleb?”

Caleb stared for a moment. Couldn’t help it really, with Mollymauk sporting the brightest colors anyone could possibly think of, and to top it all of, still having no idea what had happened exactly. He brushed his own hair back, wrinkling his nose at the greasy feeling. “Confused?”

That earned him a little laugh, as Mollymauk rearranged themself to sit with their legs crossed, grabbing a pillow to hold and, perhaps, keep their hand occupied. “Well, let’s see… you remember I told you I found you in a literal gutter beaten to shit.”

“Ja, I remember being beaten to shit.”

They nodded. “Good. Well. Not good, you know? That you were beaten to shit. But…” They stopped and frowned. Opened and closed their mouth. Hearing them stumble on their words was strangely calming. Up to that moment, Caleb had thought their confident demeanor was… perhaps not exactly intimidating, but at least something he could never relate to. Awkwardness, on the other hand, was perfectly familiar to him. “Good your head didn’t get messed up…?” Mollymauk sighed. “I’m not good at this.”

Caleb could also relate very well to needing a bit of reassurance. And this bright, peacock of a person, had _saved_ his life, miserable and worthless as it was. Reassurance was the least he should offer. “I think you are doing quite well, to be honest.”

A bright smile came immediately after that, all teeth. Fangs. “Why, thank you!” They cleared their throat, grabbing more pillows and arranging them around themself to lounge next to Caleb. “So I found you there, checked you were alive and not frozen already, and basically dragged you back to my family so we could carry you here. Made sure you didn’t die… All those good things.”

“… And _here_ is…?”

“Ah!” They were immediately excited at that question, sitting up straight and taking on an air of theatrics, making grand gestures with their hands and tail. “Yes, yes! Welcome to the Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities! And welcome to my humble abode, I suppose.”

“Oh.” Caleb looked around, then back to Mollymauk. Yes, that made sense. “I stole your bed.”

“No.” They did not seem perturbed one bit by it. Or troubled. Or annoyed, even. Caleb did not get it. “I _gave_ you my bed.”

“And then I didn’t even use it.”

“Technically you did, for two days.” They shrugged and went back to lounging, looking at Caleb intently. “So.” Caleb noticed their tail then, moving from side to side, like that of a nervous cat. “I take it you don’t like being touched too much, huh?”

“Ah.” Memories of the night before, of flinching and shrinking down reach him, and he sighs. That must have been awkward. Before he could even try to find an explanation for himself, Mollymauk went on.

“Here’s the thing.” Their tail swung, from side to side, and it made Caleb ache for his cat. “Your face is all purple and blue. Your ribs are all bruised up. And your leg? Don’t even get me started about your leg…”

They didn’t get to finish that thought. _“Ja,_ alright.” He wasn’t that bothered by touch, more than being unaccustomed, really. Despite this, he needed to heal. He needed help, so he could get going.

Mollymauk sighed with relief, sagging against the pillows they lounged so naturally on. “Thank the gods, this was going to drive me crazy. And thank you, Mr. Caleb.”

“Why are you thanking me? I should be thanking you.”

“Maybe, but I think I would go insane if I had to just stare at those bruises and do nothing about them. So thank you. For sparing me.” Mollymauk sat straighter then, scooting sideways, until they were right next to Caleb, facing him. Slowly, carefully, they brought their hands up and towards his face, brushing his hair back.

Caleb closed his eyes as Mollymauk went to touch his cheek, his brow, his nose. He let Mollymauk grab his jaw and turn him this way and that, probing gently at tender spots. “We checked that nothing was broken already but I want to make sure.” Caleb gave a shaky sigh when they touch an especially tender spot on his jaw. “Sorry.” Caleb opened his eyes then.

“It is alright. I am alright.”

Mollymauk gave him a look at that, like one who is about to give a scolding. Strangely fond. More confusion. “You most certainly are not.” They released his face then, taking the time to brush his hair back into place, apparently not minding how greasy or matted it was. “I guess, at the very least, we don’t have to worry about your face much. You’ll heal.”

They turned and scooted slightly, way too gracefully for someone literally sliding around on their ass, and faced the other way. “What I do worry about is your leg.”

“So you’ve said…”

“So, can I…?” They looked at Caleb expectantly, hands raised and ready, but waiting for confirmation, only moving forward once Caleb gave his approval. Because of how they were positioned, the tiefling was blocking the view of most of his leg, so even when the blankets were moved aside, he could not assess the damage himself. They seemed to be doing it on purpose, perhaps to spare him the gruesome details, but it only served to tie his stomach up in knots.

“Can you move it?” Caleb flexed his toes first. There was pain, but he could do it with ease. Couldn’t be that bad, right? Feeling confident, he tried to lift his leg and immediately regretted it, his entire body screaming at him. He curled forward, Mollymauk scrambling to catch him by the calf, tail shooting up and lashing out. “Bad idea!”

He let out a shaky breath. “Bad idea, _ja.”_

Caleb felt them still holding his calf, gentle but firm, as their other hand went up towards his knee, stopping at the first hiss of pain he couldn’t help but let out.

“I’m going to ask my friends for advice. One of them had a bad fall a couple months back and it looked a little like this… She is perfectly fine now.” They stood up then, tail still swooping from side to side, all nervous energy. “I’ll be back with food and… maybe a couple other people. Is that okay?”

They were way too kind and understanding, Caleb thought. To the point it was slightly confusing. He worried his bottom lip, mumbling as he spoke. “I’ll be okay. So long as you don’t bring thirty people in, or something, I’ll be…” He cleared his throat mustering up the single ounce of confidence he had to repeat louder. “I will be okay.”

“Good! I’ll be back, then. Don’t move!” And they were off, a flurry of color, practically bouncing away.

Caleb could do nothing but flop back into his pillow, thinking, _of course I won’t move._

* * *

True to their word, when Mollymauk returned they were accompanied. A pair of halfling women, identical twins, followed them closely, arms full of odds and ends.

“Mr. Caleb!” The tiefling bounded in, precariously carrying a tray with a plate and a massive teapot that looked absolutely scalding, managing to bow slightly, tail swaying excitedly as they let the twins pass before them. “It is my pleasure to introduce you to…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” One of them, wearing a high ponytail, interrupted. The other one, who sported a bun instead, hurried to the space between his nest and the actual bed, placing what looked like a sack of grain — rice? — on the floor. “I’m Yuli, that’s Mona, you are Caleb, we heard you have a fucked up leg.”

The other twin — Mona, apparently — went to kneel by his side, placing a copper bucket next to his mess of blankets and pillows. They both stared at him, expectantly, and Caleb eventually understood what they wanted. “Ah. _Ja.”_ He sat straighter, as much as his bruised ribs would allow, and shoved blankets and furs to the side, to reveal the hurt leg he has yet to see. Mollymauk was there to help him a second later, letting out a huff at the sight.

It was the first time he had seen his leg since the beating. His pant leg had been cut beforehand, so the swelling and bruising was fully visible. There were a few scrapes, burnt red and angry, but at least clean. The most frightening thing was the area around his knee, black and purple and so, so swollen. Caleb had serious doubts he would be able to walk that month. That year, even.

Yuli whistled at the sight. “No wonder Molly won’t stop whining at us. Damn, Widogast.” The twins looked at each other, nodding lightly, then got to work. Molly stood, grabbing the teapot and pouring most of the boiling water it held on the metal bucket. Then they passed the twins the sacks of grain and they proceeded to warm them up, mindful not to burn their hands.

Caleb let them work, simply looking nervously at how they would press the rice bags on the now scalding metal, firm and unafraid of burns, one after the other. He only turned from them when he felt Mollymauk settle beside him, offering a cup of sweet-smelling tea. He took it without thinking. It had been years since he had any sort of warm drink, let alone nice-smelling tea. “ _Danke_ …”

Mollymauk’s smile was blinding. Caleb was sure he would have made a fool of himself, staring, saying nothing, had he not felt his leg being lifted.

“Ready?” Yuli asked, while Mona carefully wrapped a couple layers of fabric around his leg. A piping-hot bag of grain was placed where his leg had been resting. Then slowly, painstakingly, his leg was lowered onto it, protected from scalding by the layers of fabric. Two more bags were placed, one on each side of his knee, and then a last one over it, enveloping the bruises completely.

“How’s that feel?”

Caleb resisted the urge to groan with relief as he felt the tense muscles on his leg being forced to relax. He sighed. “Pretty good, actually.”

“You had your doubts?” The twins both turned, giving an eerily identical lopsided grin, standing and gathering both the bucket and newly-empty teapot.

Mollymauk gave a laugh, waving them off. “You have to admit, my dears, that it looks pretty strange.”

“You have a point there, Tealeaf.” Mona turned to Caleb, explaining. “Yuli had a fall three months ago. Her elbow looked just as bad as your knee and this really helped.”

“Oh, it sucked. Rice bags became the highlight of my day.” As if to make a point, she flexed her arms and then proceeded to bounce the bucket on her hands, as if it were filled with scalding water, no problem at all.

“Anyway!” They both made their way towards the tent flap that functioned as the door. “We’ll leave you to your rest. Keep the rice there, even after it cools.” Yuli pointed towards them. “Molly, you handle it now.”

They both had stepped out by the time Caleb realized he had barely spoken to them at all. He sat up straighter, raising his voice as loud as he dared being so close to Mollymauk. _“Danke!_ Thank you!” He saw two hands duck back into the tent, thumbs up, and then disappear. Curious bunch.

A plate of buttery toast came into his field of vision, then. As he turned, Mollymauk smiled at him, still too bright, much more than Caleb was used to seeing. “Eat.”

Nodding, Caleb took the plate, and gave himself a moment just to smell the warm bread, melted butter, and… oh. Oh. It was sprinkled with sugar.

“Hope you don’t mind the sweetness? It’s how I like it best.”

Caleb was sure he was looking at the bread as if it were made of gold. He took a bite. His eyes stung. Mollymauk did not comment on it, though their own eyes looked brighter.

“I wanted to bring you something… more…” they said. “Just more. But our wonderful cook told me you would probably throw up if I didn’t start you with mild food, so. Toast it is.”

He took another bite of toast and fought back a sniffle. Butter and sugar on warm bread. Remembering his tea, his _piping hot, fresh_ tea, he took a sip and sighed. Heavenly. “Toast is great.”

They nodded, letting out a low, sing-songy laugh. “I agree. But even then, I promise you stew for dinner. Potato stew. With meat. And more toast on the side.” Despite himself and all of the horrible thoughts of debt and his undeserving being, Caleb smiled at that, a tiny, frail, shaky thing. Good enough for Mollymauk, if their answering grin was anything to go by.

Potato stew.

That was something he was definitely going to cry about.

* * *

Caleb had been left to his own devices for perhaps a little too long. Mollymauk had stayed with him until the toast and tea were both gone, standing up and citing their responsibilities around the carnival. Apparently, they were a promoter of sorts, enticing patrons from the nearby town into spending a couple copper to see the show. It fit them well.

The problem was that being left alone for hours left Caleb with too much time to think.

At the moment, he had an excuse to stay among the covers. There was no way he could walk, and he seriously doubted Mollymauk would agree to kick him to the curb, even if Caleb insisted. Not only had they saved his life, but they had kept him warm for days, fed him, and treated his wounds. They were too good and too kind to abandon him.

 _Because they don’t know,_ a dark part of his brain supplied.

It was selfish what he was doing, he decided. He was taking advantage of their kindness, being warm and safe and fed and cleaner than he had been in months. Caleb decided then that as soon as he could walk, he would leave. He would thank Mollymauk profusely, the twins too. The rice bags around his knee had gone lukewarm already, but the heat had been heavenly. Ah, and the little girl, Toya, too. Maybe by giving her flowers back, or would that make her too nervous?

Then again, was he going to leave without repaying them? How, anyway?

He leaned back and, without thinking, snapped his fingers. His cat popped into existence and instantly climbing up his chest and butting his little head against Caleb’s unkempt beard. Caleb smiled, smoothing the cat’s fur back. “ _Es tut mir leid, ja, Ich weiß. Ich habe dich auch vermisst, mein Freund_.”

“Now _that’s_ impressive!” a familiar voice called from the entrance of the tent. Caleb’s first instinct was to cover his little friend with his arms, curling around him protectively. It would have been smarter to simply snap him away safely into the feywild, but months of hiding any spark of magic from onlookers had dulled his instincts. Belatedly, he realized it was just Mollymauk, entering the tent with a couple bowls and a flat plate absolutely brimming with toast precariously bundled in their arms. They bounded in, careful as they placed the plates on a tray over the bed and sat down near his mess of pillows, smiling.

“Don’t look so startled, you’re fine… He’s fine, I love cats. What’s his name?”

Caleb uncurled around his cat, slowly, letting the animal plop into his lap, instructing him to look as cute as possible. He was never disappointed when asking for this. Watching the animal curl belly up, kneading the air never got old.

“Frumpkin.”

The desired effect was achieved, Mollymauk cooing and bending lower to look into the cat’s eyes. “Nice to meet you, Frumpkin.” A meow answered them, making the tiefling smile. “How polite.” They straightened, tail plopping from one side to the other, contently, as Frumpkin began to purr. “See? He likes me back. I think he relates to the tail, you see.”

“I’m sure.” Caleb took a moment just to feel his cat’s belly, knowing full well what he was getting into. He watched the cat perk up and, lighting fast, grab onto his arm in a mock attack. He chuckled at the lack of claws or teeth being used against him. Always gentle, his little friend. “He thinks you look fun.”

Mollymauk quirked an eyebrow at that, smiling. “And he told you that?”

“Cats can’t talk.” Caleb deadpanned, then freed his arm from his cat’s grip, scratching under his chin. “He’s my familiar, so we have a sort of…” A rush of fondness came over him, not his own. He blinked with surprise. He rewarded his cat with more scritches, then shrugged. “Connection.”

Mollymauk smiled through his whole half-hearted explanation. “That sounds like the most fun. Instant kitty.” With that, they leaned forward, precariously reaching for the tray that housed their dinner. Caleb hadn’t noticed the smell at first, but now that it was right in front of him, it was divine. “I come bearing gifts, as promised!” Right as he was handed a spoon, the tent flapped open again, revealing a group of three men — human, half-elf, and half-orc — and a human woman. “Ah! And company, it seems!”

“Well, I must say,” the half-elf exclaimed with a familiar flourish Caleb recognized as Molly’s own. “My stray brought me a stray that has his own stray already.” The man pointed at Molly, then at Caleb, then at Frumpkin. Strays, the three of them. The he stooped low enough to offer a hand to Caleb. “Gustav Fletching, pleasure to meet you. Caleb, right?”

Caleb took the hand with a slight hesitation. “Uh, ja, thank you for…” Words escaped him, as he glanced at all of them. Gustav simply smiled.

“Not leaving you freezing in a gutter? Not throwing you out?”

“A plate of bread?” the woman added.

Caleb cleared his throat, looking at her and then immediately away. Something in her eyes made him think of a bonfire, nice and homey, but still slightly terrifying. “All that, _ja._ Thank you.”

The human man, wearing a full face of sunset-colored face paint laughed, leaning against Gustav. “Don’t mind Ornna, really.” He extended his hand towards Caleb. Caleb took it, only slightly biting into his inner cheek. He hadn’t met this many people since _before._ “Desmond Moondrop,” the man introduced himself.

“Bo,” the half-orc said after that, and then not much else, simply staring at Caleb with bright, intelligent eyes. Sizing him up, perhaps?

Gustav stooped low once again, looking over Caleb, then Mollymauk. Smiling and nodding to himself, he stood straight and tall. “We just wanted to make sure Molly here was keeping you alive. Mona and Yuli told us they were actually doing well at this and we didn’t believe them.”

Mollymauk made an irritated expression, but the content swoop of their tail gave them away. Nothing but theatrics. “I’ll have you know I am actually trying.”

“Sure, sure. Either way.” The half-elf shrugged, and then seemed to drop all pretense, replacing his fun show smile with a much more gentle expression. He smiled at Caleb. “Mr. Widogast, you may stay as long as you need. Or as long as you want. So don’t you worry about a thing.”

 _Insane_ , Caleb thought. _All of them_. “Thank you,” he said instead.

Bo grunted, apparently having been examining Caleb the whole time. One thing he had been relearning was how to read people through their mannerisms. It had been drilled into his brain under his master’s tutelage, but his instincts had slowed after so long. Either way, anyone could tell the half-orc had a protective streak. Untrusting, maybe? But not unkind, from what he could see. “You’ve thanked us, what, five times already?”

Caleb could only shrug. “I’ll do it another fifty, rest assured, sir.”

“I like him!” the woman — Ornna — exclaimed, as if coming to that conclusion right then and there. She grabbed both Gustav and Desmond, who in turn grabbed Bo. “We’ll leave you to rest now, come now.” With that, they all turned and left, chatting about something else: something carnival related, like they hadn’t just offered the world to Caleb.

As they went, one after the other, Caleb watched them, unsure. Yet again, he had not been warned or threatened, even indebted… nothing. _These people are saints,_ he told himself. _These people are crazy._ And as he felt himself spiral at the strangeness of it all, a lavender blur came into his field of vision. Mollymauk was leaning as far as they could, reaching for the tray that held their food, tail straight up for balance. They said nothing, as a bowl was given to Caleb, warm and heavy in his cupped hands.

He breathed in, then took a spoonful.

Rich with spices, thick and heady, and absolutely, utterly, wonderful. For the second time that day, Caleb Widogast felt his eyes sting over food. If he sniffled once or twice, Mollymauk made no comment. _Anyway_ , Caleb thought, wiping his nose as subtly as he could, _I can always blame the spice_.

* * *

Days went by. A couple weeks, really, and Caleb now had a routine. Well, people around him had a routine, actually.

He would wake up every day, still on his nest of pillows and blankets. He’d sit, and spend some time just brushing Frumpkin with his fingers, enjoying the purr against his leg. Around an hour later, Mollymauk would wake on the bed next to him, stretching and lazy, hazy eyes staring at him from under a mess of plum curls.

They would talk. It was Mollymauk’s way of waking up enough to stand. The conversation would range a number of topics: dreams, food, the weather, magic, cats. And just like that they learned about each other. Mollymauk’s favorite color was _all of them at the same time_. Caleb didn’t have one. They would both eat anything that was put in front of them, no questions asked. Food was food. The one exception, and they both agreed on this, was olives.

Caleb loved cats and was afraid of big dogs. He was alright with small, yappy pups. Mollymauk was suspicious of birds, despite Caleb pointing out that they were named after one. “Takes one to know one,” the tiefling had said, half asleep and bleary-eyed.

Caleb mentioned he used to love the rain, until he had been stuck outside during a storm a year back. Mollymauk loved blue skies with not a cloud in sight, as it meant easy star gazing later.

After a while, Mollymauk would stand and help him up, each day a little easier, all the way to the private little area surrounded by tapestries on their tent. They would leave him for a couple minutes so he could take care of his business on the basin placed there. They would then help him back, after making sure he had a good stretch, and then Mollymauk would be off to get breakfast.

They’d eat with Yuli and Mona, the twins bringing their boiling water and rice combo for his aching knee. Ornna would come as well, sometimes, and slowly, with all of them assisting, would take his calf and help him bend his leg as far as it would go. The first time that had happened, Caleb had sobbed through the pain and Mollymauk had fussed over him the whole time. No one judged him, but it had left him red with embarrassment either way.

They would leave him, then, to his own devices until it was time to eat again.

Three meals a day. A novelty to him.

He would reread most of the time. Sometimes he’d play with magic, a spark here, a light there, a poof of a cat up a rafter. A couple times he had gone exploring through Frumpkin. His familiar had not been chased away from anywhere in camp, not even once, not even the makeshift kitchen. He had come out of there with a piece of chicken between his little fangs. The most satisfying moment had been one occasion in which Bo — looking all serious and intimidating — had bent down to pick the cat up, carrying him like a baby until Mollymauk had come and stolen him, carrying him all the way back to Caleb. He hadn't broken the connection until the last second, right before the tiefling entered their tent.

These were good people he had stumbled upon. Or that had stumbled upon him, more accurately.

He did not deserve them.

Soon enough, he had started stretching and bending his leg on his own. One time he had attempted to stand up alone, Mollymauk shooting up to catch him when his leg had given out from under him.

He was getting better.

And so, Caleb Widogast was running out of time.

* * *

Ornna came one day, while he and Molly were having dinner, both sitting on the beg, having a perfectly pleasant and normal conversation about olives and all the bread they ruined. Again.

She was smiling lightly with her hands on her hips, strangely knowing, as she looked over Caleb sitting with both legs bent at the knee. “Well, well, look at you, Widogast. Mind if I take a look?”

Nerves swelled in his stomach and rose all the way to his chest as Mollymauk stood and stepped beside Ornna. “Go ahead.” The woman knelt in front of him and lifted his cut and cuffed pant leg as high as she could. The bruises were mostly red and yellow now with some parts stained a sickly green, no longer the worrisome black he had been shown the first day. This time he was not anticipating much pain as she grabbed him by the calf and guided him, unbending his leg, rotating it gently to one side then the other. Mollymauk audibly sighed, relieved, as Ornna smiled. Caleb’s chest ached.

Too good.

The tiefling’s tail swung side to side as they offered their hand to him. Caleb took it and let himself be pulled up. “Time to stand, Mister Caleb.” And he did. Wobbly for a second, then perfectly fine, with next to no pain. For the first time in weeks, he stood on his own weight.

“Well,” Ornna cleared her throat then turned to leave, satisfied with her work. “I give you a clean bill of health, Widogast. Congratulations.” The tent entrance flapped, and she was gone.

Mollymauk held his hand still.

Caleb felt cold.

———————————————————

It was in the middle of the night a few hours after being declared able to walk unsupported, that Caleb found himself sitting straight up. His thoughts would not quiet down.

He no longer had an excuse to stay.

What was he trying to achieve with these people? Nothing, really. He loathed the thought that he was using them for shelter and food. They were simply too kind, and they did not understand what they were doing, to whom they were extending such kindness. If they were to find out…

He knew what he must do.

“You should go,” he said out loud to himself. Mollymauk did not stir. Caleb did not stand.

“I am going to go,” he answered himself. “It is time to go.”

He sat there for five minutes.

His legs were warm. He still had a blanket draped across his shoulders, a lumpy, pinkish wool thing. It occured to him that it was probably the one Toya insisted on sharing with him.

He thought of flowers next to his pillow. And of bags of raw rice, warmed, brought for his aching knee. Of the thick potato stew he had enjoyed that first day.

He thought of the nest built just for him. Of being tucked in. Warm fingers brushing his hair back and gently probing at tender bruises. Reassurances and kindness. Fanciful stories and theatrics. Lilting laughter. Lavender, plum, and red-on-red.

He sat there for two hours.

This was not deserved. Warmth was not for him anymore. Kindness was not for him. Would never be for him. But would it hurt them, if he disappeared? Would Toya be disappointed? Would Mona and Yuli and Ornna be angry? Would Desmond and Gustav and Bo think him ungrateful?

Would Mollymauk Tealeaf be sad if he left?

He sat there until sunrise, waiting for the carnival to wake up around him.

He didn’t leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I project my seething hatred towards olives here? Yes. Yes I did.
> 
> Thanks for the read!


	2. Hither and Yon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb finds his place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!!!
> 
> I was so excited about all the love I got on chapter one that I decided to post chapter two juuuust a little earlier. Thank you all so much for the support ♥♥♥♥!!!!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The carnival was moving.

Sitting atop one of the many carts, Caleb allowed himself to relax. He had fought to not get special treatment like this, but if he was to be honest with himself, he could have fought harder. Watching Mollymauk arrange a pillow and a warm blanket and turn around to excitedly say “there’s even room for your cat,” how could he say no?

It felt cruel to deny to Mollymauk’s kindness. They tried so hard for Caleb, for whatever reason. It was both terrible and the greatest thing ever.

And, truthfully, he liked it up in his perch. Sure, his injured ribs would get jostled on especially bad bumps, even with the bruising over them being as light as it was now. But the view was nice and the air was crisp. He could see Mollymauk walking along — bouncing, really — talking excitedly with the twins. Sometimes they would look around and — though the red-on-red of their eyes made them hard to read — their expression would be one of pure wonder. Perhaps they hadn’t seen much of the world in their childhood.

Again, it felt cruel to reject their efforts. From what he could tell, Mollymauk Tealeaf did not half-ass anything. It was in the way they dressed, in the way they spoke, the way they moved. It was their very being, to the core. Giving it everything. Excited about everything.

 _Maybe it’s just the novelty of me_ , he thought as he looked up towards the clouds, digging his fingers into Frumpkin’s fur, in an effort to stay calm. _They’ll get bored as soon as someone new joins, and maybe then I can walk away with no fear of upsetting anyone._

Caleb was brought out of his thoughts by a nearby chuckle, and he couldn’t help but smile fondly as he watched Mollymauk take a running start towards the cart. They jumped, impossible graceful, and grabbed the edge of the ledge, feet scrambling for purchase and tail lashing about for balance. It was precarious and dangerous, and frankly stupid, but they made it up top with Caleb. Laughter combined with a huff as it left their lips. “I knew the view from up here would be a treat.” They lifted their arms, far and tall as they stretch, and then dropped flat on their back, looking up at the sky. “Also, I didn’t want you ruining your leg all over again; Mona and Yuli would murder me.”

“I would not endanger your life, Mister Tealeaf.” Caleb looked up as well, trying to find shapes in the clouds like he had done many times as a child. He couldn’t do it.

They laughed. “How valiant.” A silence fell over them, comfortable and warm. Caleb let Frumpkin patter over to the tiefling, watching the cat climb on to their belly and curl in there as Mollymauk smiled and went to smooth the familiar’s fur. The purring came instantaneously. “Well, seems I’ll be staying here for a while.”

“ _Ja_ , seems so.” Caleb watched them for a beat longer and then gave up, just a little. Just a little would be alright, wouldn’t it? He took a deep breath and gingerly laid on his back as well. He felt red-on-red eyes on him, but he couldn’t turn to look. Wouldn’t dare, lest he shoot back up like an idiot. Instead, he cleared his throat and lifted an arm to point toward the sky. “You see any shapes?”

A hum answered him, then silence for a full minute. And then huffing laughter, as a lavender arm shot up toward an especially long cloud. Caleb groaned, knowing exactly what was coming. “That one looks like a dick.”

“I regret asking.” The gentle laughter coming from beside him became full on cackling, as a tail thumped against his leg and then rested on his belly.

“No, you don’t.”

* * *

They traveled for a full week. Caleb kept getting his special seat atop the cart and Mollymauk kept joining him. One time the twins do as well. On a couple of occasions, Kylre, the big lizard folk that traveled with them huffed annoyed at his privileged arrangements, and lifted Toya all the way up to sit with him. She didn’t say much, but gifted him with a wild flower every time.

At night, they lifted a single big tent, and everyone piled up together to sleep. Mollymauk was always near him, except when was their turn to watch out for danger through the night. Caleb joined them sometimes, sending globules of amber light around for better visibility. Other times he gave them Frumpkin, with strict instructions to the feline to _sound the alarm if anything goes to shit._ Nothing did, for a whole seven days of being on the road.

Eventually, they settled. Not for a show, but for a rest. They made it a point to set what they fondly call the ‘ _living quarters’_ with a mock posh tone. Various tents went up, a big area in the center of it all that would house a bonfire and serve as both the kitchens and dining hall. Caleb mostly helped keep stock of things, counting support beams and the massive stakes they used to secure their tents against the wind. He lost himself in the rush to settle before nighttime so much that he didn’t think about his own accommodations until a hand came to rest on his shoulder after dinner. Mollymauk looked down at him. “Tired yet?”

It hit Caleb then that yes, he would very much like to plop down somewhere right about now, and he didn’t know where to do that. Before he could even open his mouth to ask, Mollymauk was winding their arm around his own and pulling him up to stand and walk toward the tents. “Come then, Mister Caleb. We are roommates yet again.”

He allowed Molly to pull him through the organized mess that was their camp, toward a tent with recognizable tapestries decorating it already. Once inside, he immediately knew that things were about to be awkward. Their setup was almost identical to their previous tent: small table with a basin, little partition on a corner, tapestries hanging everywhere they could be hung, but one thing was very different. Rather than the single-person cot they had before there was now a big, lumpy mattress on the floor, spilling over with pillows and blankets and furs.

Mollymauk released him as they bounded in, preparing for sleep. Caleb just stood there, half frozen, as the tiefling occupied themself. “I have made the executive decision to ditch the cot in favor of this. Cold season and all. Hope you don’t mind sharing.”

What was he supposed to say to that? _Yes, Mollymauk,_ _I do mind, set your whole tent up again, thank you_. He wasn’t even sure if he _did_ mind. Caleb cleared his throat instead. “That is fine,” he said, mostly for lack of options, partially not wanting to offend. Partially, also, because he was too tired to think too hard about anything at all.

They settled in complete silence, companionable but still thick, as they removed coats and boots and untucked shirts. Caleb laid down first, slipping under the blankets and plopping his head on a lumpy pillow.

It was nerve-wracking at first. Of course he had gotten used to the presence of the tiefling. It was a near constant fact, after all, that Mollymauk would eventually fall in step by his side or scramble up the cart with him. Hells, they had laid next to each other at least a dozen times by then, but it had always been with the knowledge that they were not alone. All those times, the voices or snores of the rest of the troupe had been close by, in the background. The movement of the cart, wheels against ill-kept roads, had been grounding. Here, sharing a mattress and blankets in complete stillness and silence, was different.

It was intimate.

It scared the hell out of Caleb. Not because he did not trust Mollymauk, who had curled on their side, back towards him. He had the exact opposite problem. He did trust them. Bren Ermendrud hadn’t trusted anyone in over a decade. The name, the persona, ‘ _Caleb Widogast’_ had been born from that fact exactly. And yet here he was, sleepy and warm, mind slowing down more and more.

Eventually he found himself curling on his side as well, facing both Mollymauk and the tent flap that acted as a door. He clicked his tongue twice despite not needing to make a sound to call Frumpkin, and watched the cat curl atop the blankets between them, purring against Caleb’s chest. He took a deep breath, slow and as steady as he could, and closed his eyes.

A now familiar tail extended towards him, and laid against his forearm. Caleb fell asleep soon after.

* * *

It was two days later on the eve of their departure that he arrived to the tent for a rest before dinner when he realized he is in trouble.

There stood Mollymauk Tealeaf, in their full peacock glory, filling their copper basin with warm water and whistling a tune. They smiled up at Caleb, all mischievous and playful and positively impish as they threw the kettle they had been holding to the side, completely uncaring about dents. “You, Mister Caleb, are in luck.”

“No, I don’t think I am, really,” he mumbled, and didn’t move a muscle, knowing what was coming for him now.

Mollymauk didn’t even have the decency to look perturbed or deterred. “Oh, shush,” they said, shooting both arms to frame their arrangement of vials Caleb now knew were soaps and hair oils and tinctures. “Sit down right here, you don’t have to do a thing.”

“ _Nein._ ”

They sputtered, almost dropping the brush, outraged. “Why the hell _nein_ _?”_

“You shouldn’t bother, I take up enough of your time as it is.”

By their expression, that wasn’t going to be good enough. Mollymauk placed their hands on their hips, jutted their chin out. “Well, are you going to do it yourself.”

“No, not really.”

“So.” They pointed at the chair. “Sit.” He couldn’t look at them anymore, so his gaze dropped, first to Molly’s feet, then away even from that. There was a pause, and a sigh, then a hand brushed his greasy hair back. He grimaced, knowing how gross it was. “I don’t mind, Caleb. I’ll have fun doing this, I promise.”

“Mollymauk, it is not…” Words escaped him. “Not necessary?” How does one say no to an offering like that? To a kindness? How does one explain that cleanliness is a danger? That you yourself are a danger? “It is not… I am not…” How does one tell Mollymauk Tealeaf that they are wasting their time caring for a thing that doesn’t deserve it, without pushing them away cruelly? “It is not worth it.” He glanced up at them, through his eyelashes.

They were not impressed by that, red-on-red eyes glaring, nose scrunching, brows lowering. “Oh, get the fuck out of here with that and let me wash your hair.” Caleb watched them cross their arms, still holding soap and a brush like weapons, mind made up.

And he just stared. Caleb didn’t feel like Molly gave much of a shit about his self-loathing. But safety, he thinks, maybe they would care. Maybe they would understand Caleb’s need to stay hidden. No one paid attention to a dirty homeless man laying on the street. Then again, he supposed, no one would ever think of looking for him in a carnival, of all places. He used to be a show-off, he would admit, but a show _man?_ Never. There’s a strange kind of logic there, he supposed. Or perhaps, again, he simply could not deny the tiefling he owed his life to. “ _Ja_ , alright.”

Mollymauk startled at that for all but two seconds, probably because they had been ready to fight him about this. Then they beamed at him, like Caleb just told them the secrets of the universe. The tiefling hurried to set up. A chair, covered in towels, and a couple buckets of steaming water. There were soaps and oils that smelled of herbs, and five different kinds of brushes and combs. When it was done, they came back to Caleb, towel in hand, which they draped over his shoulders. They worked carefully, not wanting to scare him off perhaps, and pulled him to sit.

“Alright, Mr. Caleb. You sit, relax, and tip your head back.” He does. Mollymauk begins.

Water was poured over his head, carefully, just beyond his hairline. Deft fingers undid knots, and oil was pressed into matted strands that were then brushed out. There was a startled laugh when an old, dried insect was found. Caleb couldn’t even bring himself to be embarrassed. His hair was combed, fanned into a towel, and then rinsed. _This is so nice,_ he thought, incredulous. Then came the soap and deft fingers massaging his scalp, blunted claws scratching lightly.

Caleb almost fell asleep.

More warm water and a muted apology startled him awake. A towel was wrapped around his hair and he was made to sit straight. His neck ached but he couldn’t bring himself to care as Molly patted his hair dry and gave it a final brush through. They rubbed drops of oil onto their fingers and worked it through the ends of Caleb’s hair, scrunching then smoothing. “Lemongrass,” they explain.

By the time they were done, Caleb felt light, clean, and not a mess. It was in the height of that feeling that he took a chance. He rubbed the scruff of his beard. “Do you have a straight razor?” He didn’t get any answer other than Molly rummaging through drawers and cupboards, tail lashing out in excitement.

Soon, Caleb was standing over a table with a bowl under his face to catch the falling hair. Mollymauk had to hold the mirror up while he worked lather on his beard and proceeded to shave for the first time since it was forced upon him in the asylum right before his escape.

It felt different. No straps holding his head in place. No panic, as careless swipes of a dull razor cut his skin. No burn or sting from too little lather. Caleb took his time and carefully rid himself of the scruff, not minding how Molly watched him or how they hummed a ditty once they got restless. The mirror never lowered, not until he was done.

Molly nearly chucked it across the room in their excitement, immediately going to touch his face, and Caleb allowed it. Warm fingers caressed his jaw and cheeks. “You have a little…” Molly touched his chin. “A little dimple right here. How handsome of you.” That startled a laugh out of him, and the movement freed his head.

“I don’t know, people usually call that an ass-chin.”

Now it was Molly who laughed. “Fools, the lot of them.”

Caleb smiled at that. “Thank you, Molly.” Belatedly, he realized he had dropped the degree of separation he had so stubbornly been holding on to. ‘ _Mr. Tealeaf’_ and ‘ _Mollymauk’_ were forgotten. They were ‘ _Molly’_ now. The smile he was rewarded with did not allow him to feel even an ounce of regret. He was in too deep now, and there was no helping it.

He thought of himself as a skittish alley cat, accepting scritches for the first time. He did not hate the comparison.

“Not a problem, Caleb.”

* * *

Of course, _of course_ , a good mood like that never lasted with Caleb Widogast. He had dinner just fine. Talked to Molly. He even had a conversation with Ornna about keeping torches lit around the camp through the night. Everything was fine. But once it was truly night — 12:43am exactly — things had gone horribly dark again.

There were flames inside his mind: a house burning. His father shouting. Mother pleading, pounding at the door. The screeching of a cat, too. He felt a cold hand on his neck, thin fingers holding him up to watch, nails digging into his skin. Windows were shattering, popping and exploding from the heat. Wood was crackling. His own screams soon followed.

Curse his damn memory.

He thought of his training, as clear as if it just had happened. He was strapped to a chair and he thought he was going to die. He thought the pain would take him and all would be for nothing. But no, he had to do this. His blood would bear fruit. His pain would all be worth it: for his friends, for his family, for his home. For the Empire. But it’s too much. He remembered glancing down and seeing bright red and glowing green growing out of his skin and it hurt, it burned, and he wanted it to _stop, stop, please stop, bitte, ich kann nicht, take them out, take them out, take them out!_

He didn’t notice he was screaming in real life until there were hands holding his face. For a moment he panicked, tried to pull away. He was about to start kicking when he heard shushing. Kind and patient shushing. Tears were being brushed away from his cheeks. Caleb couldn’t help his shaky breath or his sniffling. He sobbed, as quietly as he could, and was simply held until he calmed completely. He groaned then, annoyed with himself.

Molly huffed a little laugh at this. Not mean — not even amused, really. Perhaps an automatic response. It didn’t matter.

The tiefling made a move to stand and Caleb just barely resisted the urge to grab onto them, the panic of his memories still too close to the surface. He needed not worry, as Molly slipped under the covers beside him and shuffled around until they were able to wrap their arms around Caleb. He turned instinctively toward them, too raw to do anything else.

They were pressed together. Warm.

_Safe?_

Yes. Safe.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He shook his head, forehead brushing against Molly’s clavicle. “Right. This okay, then?” He nodded. He felt a tail wrap around his ankle. “Good.” They were silent after that.

With his head tucked under Molly’s chin, nestled in pillows and warm blankets, it was hard not to let go. No longer able to keep himself taut, he heard his own breath, shuddering and frail, leave his lungs. A sad, little sigh, that left him sagging against the other’s warmer body. Molly held him just a bit tighter.

It was nice. Really nice.

He did not allow himself to think whether or not he deserved nice. He would think of that in the morning. When there were no desperate tears staining his cheeks or kind arms around his waist, holding him safe.

He would think of fire and ash, soot and the terrible, horrible stench or burning flesh in the morning.

He would think of crystals and blood. Of wrists marked by restraints. Of ankles, chained. He would think of hands on his temples and clouds clearing and the dread of realization.

He would hate himself then, in the morning. There was no doubt. But, for the moment, wrapped like he was, by arms and tail, he simply slept.

* * *

A few days passed.

No one seemed to mind him. They welcomed him, even, whenever he would arrive to a new area. He really thought that he could be doing nothing and they still would not kick him to the curve.

_Only because they don’t know._

He knew that, never forgot that detail. They didn’t know. So he made himself useful, asking around if anyone needed assistance. The least he could do was earn his keep, for as long as he was allowed. Who knew how long that would last, either way.

That was exactly how he had found himself following Ornna through the camp, building the biggest campfire they could muster. “It’s a pain lighting them up when they’re this big. I have to walk side to side, but it’s the only way to fit a cauldron big enough to fit food for everyone.”

“I can handle that.” Caleb waited for her to turn around to look at him and, wanting to avoid too many questions, he simply lifted his hand and made it burn, blackening with soot, not burning him.

“Huh. Molly mentioned you had some magic in you but well… it felt rude to ask.”

“That’s alright. They’ve only seen me do a couple things… You are the first one here to see me set myself on fire,” he tried to joke, but it came stilted and awkward. It didn’t faze Ornna one bit.

“What an honor,” she deadpanned as Caleb sent another spark of fire into the pyre, right where he knew it would encourage some growth. She smacked her own forehead after staring at the bonfire for a full minute. “I almost forgot.” He watched her hurry off toward a cart he knew functioned as a storage place. _‘The attic,’_ the twins called it, with the same exaggerated posh accent they used to name the whole carnival space. By the time Ornna came back, Caleb had the fire burning nice and high. She took little notice, shoving a pile of clothing into his arms. “Take these, you need a change. I know your pant leg is missing under those boots. Can’t be comfortable.”

“Ah.” There was a clean shirt, old but mostly whole, and pants that were barely used. There was also a pair of warm socks, woolen and frumpy, but serviceable. It was… way better than the clothes under Caleb’s ragged coat. “Thank you… How can I…?”

“Don’t even mention repayment. They were just laying around, you might as well have them.” She gave him a look up and down, as if to clarify that this was sorely needed. She wasn’t wrong. “Ask Molly to help you mend the elbows, they’re pretty worn.”

“Ornna, but…”

“But nothing, Widogast, but nothing.” She grabbed a stack of pots and pans and hurried into the kitchen tent. “Go change, yeah? I’m cold just looking at you.”

With that, she left him to tend to the fire, speechless and so, so grateful. The carnival folk kept outdoing themselves. Every time Caleb thought there was no way they could up their already unbelievable kindness towards him, they did something else that left him feeling _warm._ And so, so guilty.

_Too good for me._

And so, he threw himself into work. Into being useful. No one really urged him to earn his keep, no one conditioned his place at the carnival. No one demanded results, and he found this alien at best. Results kept him fed. Results kept him alive. But here? In the middle of nowhere, surrounded by performers, results were simply an extra.

He went to Gustav and Desmond either way, to help with planning their routes, pointing north with no hesitation. And he kept the fires around camp alive, with or without Ornna asking him to. He kept stock and carried what he could and packed and unpacked and took extra watches.

It still didn’t feel like enough.

* * *

He ran himself ragged for days. When they settled down he was constantly popping up places where he might be needed. When they were on the road, he took stock of everything they had. At night he reread his spellbook for hours by the light of his magic, until his eyes were too heavy too keep open and Frumpkin growled and chirped in his ear demanding _sleep-rest-quiet_. Bless Mollymauk’s heavy sleeping.

They stopped for the day, a few hours earlier than usual, and he hurried to where he knew Desmond, Gustav, and Ornna would be checking the maps. When he arrived, he was surprised to see only Gustav there. The others usually didn’t trust him with planning routes on his own, on account of one single occasion he had guided them in the complete opposite way by holding a map upside down.

He glanced toward Caleb, giving him a wave and a gesture to get closer. Caleb did, and they both said nothing for a full minute and 25 seconds. Then, the half-elf cleared his throat. “You know, Caleb. You are worrying me a little.”

 _There it is_ , Caleb thought. He had fucked up somewhere along the line. Maybe he did something wrong, maybe it was something weird? Maybe someone didn’t like him? He didn’t dare look at Gustav, dropping his gaze instead toward the map and the route he had been marking. The wrong path was underlined. He couldn’t find it in him to say anything about it.

“Don’t look so nervous.” Gustav laughed and placed a hand on Caleb’s shoulder, perhaps waiting for him to turn and look at him. Caleb didn’t, couldn’t, so Gustav went on anyway. “I just want to make sure you _know_ that no one is going to throw you out if you don’t carry your weight, you know?” He laughed, good-natured and light. “I mean, look at Molly, they barely do anything.” Caleb heard this, knew it is meant to make him laugh, and yet all he could do is stare at the map and the wrong route and think _if I leave in less than an hour I could reach the village there._ Gustav released him and whispered, “you don’t believe me, do you?”

Caleb shook his head then cleared his throat. “I’ve never…” His voice cracked anyway, and he tried again. “I’ve never been somewhere like this before.” He finally looked at Gustav, and the man simply nodded in understanding, urging him to go on. “Molly keeps telling me that I don’t need to pay them back. That none of you mind I’m here. But…”

“Well, it’s not that we don’t mind,” Gustav clarified. “It’s more like we actually like having you around you know?”

“I— What?”

“Yes, yes.” Gustav circled the table, looking at the map. Caleb thought he was probably doing it on purpose, giving him some space to breath and calm down. “Toya is really taken with you. Keeps telling me about your pretty hair or something.” The man laughed fondly. “Mona and Yuli like your humor. ‘Good-ass gallows shit,’ they called it. Ornna and Desmond and I like that you are honest. You always try to help. Bo too, he thinks you’re alright and that’s saying a lot. He thinks you’re smart and that’s enough for him. Also, he loves your damned cat, but don’t tell him I said that.” They were on the opposite side of the table now. He faced Caleb, smiling still. “You are a good man.”

“I am not,” is all Caleb could say to that.

“I think you are.” The man was still smiling kindly, eyes crinkling and clear and bright. He shrugged. “And even if you are not, Mr. Widogast, we have plenty of shady folk in here. Again, look at Mollymauk. Little shit that they are.” Caleb watched him stare at the map once more and sigh. “Relax a little.” He pushed off the table and walked away toward one of the tents being setup for the night. “Choose one or two things you want to help with, and stick to those. We’ll figure out the rest sometime.” He paused and turned, expression now slightly panicked. “Ah, but don’t stop helping me with that maps, I can’t work that out half the time.”

A job. An in. A relief. _“Ja,_ of course.” Caleb made it a point to grab a pencil and circle the correct path, twice, then he put it down and looked at Gustav. He smiled and finally left Caleb alone. Caleb’s heart thumped against his rib cage. He was exhausted.

He went to find Molly after that. They were sitting in bed, surrounded by colorful thread, needles stuck to a pillow nearby as they worked on their coat. It was a massive project they had started months ago and would probably not finish in months to come. Colorful and surprisingly orderly work falling together, colors and shapes slotting like puzzle pieces. A peacock making their own feathers.

Caleb took Frumpkin off his perch as a cat scarf and plopped him on the bed then did the same, on his side, and watched Molly work the needle. In and out and pull. In and out and switch. In and out and knot. It was frankly impressive to see them so concentrated and still. Calm, for once. “When did you learn to do that?”

They hummed as they thought about it, pulling at a long, bright yellow thread. “Last spring, I guess? Or maybe it was summer already.”

“You are really good at it. Like you’ve been doing it for years.”

They shrugged. “Maybe I have, who knows.”

Caleb glanced away from the work and toward their face. Molly didn’t look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Ah, right,” they say, as if something had just occurred to them, and Caleb knew that was bullshit. They had probably been skirting well around this subject exactly. He looked toward the embroidery again, giving Molly an out, but they went on slowly. “You hadn’t joined, yet. I forget to bring it up.” They took a breath, pulled a thread, then switched colors to a burnt orange. “I don’t remember anything.”

“Oh?” Caleb was curious, extremely so. But he was also intimately aware of how hard it is to talk about memories, he supposed that speaking about a _lack_ of memories must be just as difficult. So he showed interest, wanting them to go on, but also offered an out.

“Well, this is grim, honestly.” He watched them work for a beat of silence, looping threads together in a swirl of color, then stabbing the fabric maybe a little too hard. “I woke up… what, a year ago, I guess? Under the ground. Buried alive, maybe? Or maybe dead and I came back, I don’t know.” The needle came up and Molly formed a knot, then pulled. The eye of a smiling sun began to take shape. “Terrible way to wake up, by the way, with dirt down your throat and worms on your hair.”

“Molly, that’s…” Caleb reached for them, worried, placing a hand on their knee.

“Don’t say it.” Their hand covered his for a second, and then got back to work. “I know. I don’t care that much anymore, honestly. I’ve decided I don’t want to know.” They stitched a little faster, more carelessly, but still as beautiful. “Whoever I was before, they got buried. Maybe they were terrible. Maybe they deserved it. Who knows, but either way, they are not me.”

“Fair,” he mumbled, for lack of a better answer. Advice or empathy, he had no idea what to offer the tiefling other than a piece of himself, in exchange for the bit Molly had just gifted him. “I remember everything.”

“Everything?”

“ _Ja_. Everything I’ve read, everywhere I’ve been, everyone I’ve met.”

“What a pair we make.” Caleb had expected many things, like disbelief or denial, maybe questions, but yet again Molly took his expectations and broke them all. They simply paused their work with a knot and snip of scissors and then turned to look at him. “Tell me something you remember, from long ago.”

Fire was the first thing that came to mind. A couple smells that he wished he could scrub from his nostrils, even if a decade had gone by already and nothing could erase them. _Softer_ , he told himself. _Gentle. Something nice, for Molly,_ he urged his mind, and it delivered. “Three eggs, only the whites. Two handfuls of almonds, finely chopped. Two scoops of sugar. Cinnamon to taste, the more the better.”

They smiled, amused, and it felt like a real achievement. “What are you making in that head o’ yours?”

“ _Zimtsterne._ Cinnamon stars. A cookie from back home.”

“That’s a good thing to remember.”

 _“Ja.”_ Exhaustion caught up to him as he called Frumpkin silently, and the cat cuddled around his head, paws on his temple and purring. Caleb let his eyes slide shut. _“Ja,_ it is.”

He was almost asleep when he felt a hand brush his hair back, and he dared not open his eyes to look. Blunt claws raked against his scalp, soft and careful, only once, and then the touch is gone.

He would not admit it, even to himself, but he missed that hand the second it was gone.

* * *

They had stopped just a couple hours after setting off that day. Apparently, some of the horses had been spooked and had somehow freed themselves and ran off. Too much of a coincidence, if anyone asked Caleb’s opinion on the matter. But no one did, so he settled for finding a quiet spot with the others on the field beneath a lone tree, losing himself in updating his journal.

He would look up occasionally, just to make sure the caravan was still not moving. Guilt pooled in his chest when he realized they wouldn’t leave him even if he didn’t notice them moving. Molly wouldn’t leave him. Were they not chasing runaway horses they would probably be sprawled next to him, demanding attention like a spoiled cat.

That comparison made him snap his fingers for Frumpkin, his companion popping around his shoulders, lounging like he had been there the whole time. A small gasp he now recognized well came from somewhere in the tall grass. _Be extra cute,_ he told his little friend. _Maybe she’ll come out._

With a ‘ _mrrp,’_ Frumpkin jumped off his shoulder and stretched, tail straight up and pawing at the ground, all soft looking. When that didn’t work, they resorted to the ultimate weapon. His familiar found a sunny spot and, in a single movement, flopped down, soft belly exposed, front paws splayed over his the kitty’s head. That should do the trick.

Caleb went back to reading, knowing that patience was key. When he heard light steps and the rustling of fabric, he fought back a smile. After exactly one minute, he looked up, finding Toya crouching, looking at his cat with an awe-filled expression. “You may pet him,” he said gently, and counted his lucky stars when his voice did not startle her. “He is the best cat. He won’t mind if you pat him.”

Toya looked at him, doubtful, and then back at Frumpkin, her expression drifting to pure determination. Slowly, with the caution of someone who has been tempted by a fuzzy belly before and been scratched, she placed her hand on the cat’s tummy. Frumpkin, of course, being the treasure of a familiar he was, did nothing but stretch and purr, satisfied with the attention. Toya’s smile was blinding.

Caleb let her be, going back to his book. The three of them spend a blessedly peaceful hour.

Soon enough they were interrupted by a welcome voice. “There you both are!” Molly approached them, toothy smile on and sweating profusely. They flopped next to Toya, lounging in a very Frumpkin-like way and stretching. “Horses retrieved! We’ll be going in an hour or so, while they’re checked and strapped to the cart.”

Caleb nodded and watched Molly scoot next to Toya, whispering. He went back to his book for all but five minutes before he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Mollymauk stood over him, tall and proud and all smiles. Toya hid behind them, worrying her lips. “Mister Caleb, we have a proposition for you. Free hairstyling. What do you say?”

He remembered a couple days ago Gustav telling him about Toya liking his hair and he already knew he had to agree. “… Should I be nervous?”

“No, no, of course not!” Toya peered from behind the tiefling, nodding. “We are experts, you can trust us.”

“Well…” He looked at the girl, her expression as determined, if not more, than when she had decided to pet Frumpkin. His cat was now staring him down, tail flicking the ground back and forth mirroring Molly’s, judging. Betrayed, even by his own familiar. In the end, he never stood a chance. _“Ja,_ alright.”

The next hour was interesting, to say the least. Toya had immediately shot up, bouncing excitedly and running towards the field. He raised an eyebrow to Molly, who simply signaled him to scoot away from the tree. As he did, the tiefling slid behind him, slotting him between their legs and running their fingers through his hair, undoing knots and rearranging his natural part, pushing most of his hair to one side. Toya returned soon enough holding little wild flowers in her cupped hands.

Oh. Well.

Caleb let it happen, feeling Molly part and braid some strands away from his face, pausing a few times for Toya to place a little flower here and there. Frumpkin climbed onto his lap and curled into a ball. Soon enough they were joined by Yuli and Mona, who flopped onto the grass on either side of him, close enough to reach for his familiar who, of course, did nothing but purr and turn up the cuteness, making biscuits against their palms. They cooed and giggled, and Molly laughed at them.

Ornna is next, arriving with a basket of sliced bread, each one of them receiving a slice. Molly, now finished with the ‘free hairstyling’ sat next to him as they all ate, conversing about anything that came to mind. About the caravan, about the horses, about Toya’s songs.

“Are you going to figure out an act soon, Molly?” Yuli asked, as she scooted around to use her sister’s thigh as a pillow. She continued, extending her hand towards the tiefling, pushing them lightly in an attempt to grab more of their attention. “You would do great as a permanent promoter, but I know you’re itching to be the center of attention.”

They laughed and denied nothing. “You know me well,” they answered, moving to push her back. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll throw knives?”

Ornna frowned. “No one is going to want to be your target.”

“Eat swords?”

Caleb made a face at that, but Toya was the one who voiced his thoughts. “Ew.”

The tiefling simply laughed at them both, for some reason delighted by their reaction. “Hmm, you have a point there, my dear. Ew.”

Caleb chewed his lower lip for a moment, waiting for an opening in the conversation. That sounded slightly worrying. He was not a performer, by a long shot, even if it were safe for him to be. “Does everyone have to have an act…?”

“No, no, don’t worry.” Ornna waved a hand at him, and he leaned in closer. She arranged one of the little white flowers near his temple. Toya shot up to help as well. “Though, I’m sure you could do some magic, huh…?”

“Ah, well…” He swallowed, leaning back once they were done and lifted his cat, waiting for him to climb up his shoulders and curl around his neck. “I’m pretty sure I would shrivel up and die at all the attention so…”

“That’s fine, we’ll figure something for you to do. Special effects?” She laughed, snorting at her thoughts. “You already handle the routes better than Gustav, so there’s that.”

“That does sound more my speed.”

He left it at that, going back to his book for a moment, but a prickling on his neck would not let him be. As he turned, he noticed Molly staring right at him, smiling, all fangs out, and their tail thumping left and right, left and right. The perfect picture of a menace. For the moment, neither of them said a thing about it, but Caleb knew.

Mollymauk had an idea.

* * *

It was a couple days later when Molly revealed their cards, and Caleb cannot believe they stewed over it for so long.

They were still moving, despite it being past sunset, as they hadn’t found a safe clearing to set up. Caleb had hurried through the caravan, making sure any available torch had been lit and then scrambled up the first cart, nearly falling on his ass had it not been for Molly catching him in the last second and pulling him up. “That’s it, Caleb. I’m feeding you more: you weigh nothing!” He ignored them for the moment, in favor of standing over the cart and sending his globules of light above the lead horse’s head so they can see where they are going. Molly stood beside him looking around, tail flicking up and nose scrunching and they glared into the darkness.

They moved for half an hour more before the tiefling stood straighter. “There.” They pointed toward a smaller road, barely large enough for their caravan, but that went into a larger side field. Hidden enough to be a safe place to crash. Caleb extended his arm and sent the globules towards the side road so everyone could see as Molly whistled and pointed again. Caleb heard Bosun somewhere below them, and the direction of the cart shifted. They sighed in relieved unison and plopped down to sit atop the carriage as it waddled forward.

“You know…” Molly started, and Caleb by now recognized he was about to be bamboozled into agreeing to _something_. “We make a good team, Mister Caleb.”

“Do we, Mister Mollymauk?” He turned towards the tiefling, watching their tail _thump-thump-thump_ in a familiar rhythm against the side of the cart.

“We do, ‘course we do.” They plopped back, swaying slightly with the waddling of the cart slowly making its way up the side road. Beneath them, voices planned their dinner, begging Ornna for something hearty. Caleb was just about to stand, knowing they’d need a big fire tonight, when Molly shot up to sit straight, grabbing his hand. “I’ve been thinking.”

 _“Ja,_ that is what I am afraid of.”

“Oi, fuck off.” Caleb lifted an eyebrow, and his lip quirked slightly up sideways, helpless against the tiefling’s jutted jaw. They smiled again, soon enough. “We should come up with an act. Together.”

“…You are joking.”

“No, think about it! Between your magic and my drama, we will do something incredible, don’t you see?”

“Wow,” he said, looking up towards the sky. It was cloudy, no stars.

“What?”

“I cannot believe you just admitted you thrive off drama, I am so proud of you.”

Mollymauk sputtered, tail lashing up and then side to side and smacking the cart with each movement. “Oi!” And then they were looking at him, red-on-red eyes wide. “Wait, was that a quip?”

_“Nein.”_

“Huh. Pity. Was a good one.” They sighed, and laughed even through his denial. “So?”

Caleb looked away. Were he an honest man he would tell Molly right then and there so many things. He would start by telling them that it was a bad idea to stick Caleb in front of a crowd — not because of his nerves, but because they could get killed. That he was a danger to them all. That he was garbage, a monster, _selfish_ for even staying as long as he had. But then again, he wasn’t that honest man.

Instead, he felt himself shrink and curl onto himself and spiral down, down, _down_ into his memory until there was a hand on his arm, warm and welcome. He shot right back into the real world. Molly looked at him, worrying their lip. “Hey.” Their voice was low, as if trying not to grate on Caleb’s frayed nerves. “You can say no if you want to. I’ll get it.”

And there they went again, exceeding anything Caleb could have predicted. For all of their bullshitting and veneer, Molly was understanding. They were considerate even, try as they might to seem the opposite. Good. So Caleb tried to make sense of it. No one would think of Bren as a performer in a million years. Hiding a tree in a forest, as they say. So he didn’t say yes or no, not yet. He compromised. “Tell me what you come up with? I’ll tell you after that.”

Their answering smile was blinding.

“You got it, dear. You got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a tumblr, by the way. I don’t think I will use it much, honestly, but if anyone wants to scream about Critical Role with me, find me as moonbonniewrites there. 
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Thanks again! Stay safe!


	3. Heart Full of Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New friend, new enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to dedicate this chapter to the playlist titled Waiting in the Rain for 10 Hours Extended.
> 
> AND to everyone who read the last chapter! Thank you all for the support, it makes me so happy.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one!

_834 P.D.  
Spring_

Time went by.

“So, I have an idea!”

Caleb was barely awake, and their bedding was already filled with crumbs as Molly munched on a piece of bread. He would have minded, had the tiefling not arrived with a piece for him as well. Were they not pressing a warm cup of tea into his hand, he might have considered tuning them out, just for a bit.

All through the week they had spent on the outside of this new town Molly had been throwing ideas at him for a shared act. They had started with learning how to walk the rope, seriously considered the trapeze, and then mentioned something about juggling swords at each other. Caleb was unclear. He took a sip of his tea and hummed, not minding the fact that he was scalding his tongue. “Alright, I am listening.”

“Great! Now, eat your bread.” Caleb did, gathering his pillow to rest his back as he took a bite off his slice. Molly smiled at this, satisfied, their tail swishing from side to side. “I know you said no to the sword juggling. Or the knife throwing. Or the blade swallowing.”

“Uh huh, too pointy.” With a snap, Frumpkin popped into existence, purring on his lap.

“That’s why they were exiting ideas.” Molly leaned in towards Frumpkin and accepted a swat on their forehead from the cat, no problem. Good. Everyone had to know who the boss was. “So I’ve had a revelation! I’ve only been thinking about myself. Terribly selfish of me.”

Now, that was worrying. “I do not know what you mean.”

“Pointy things are my thing! Swords are my thing! Not yours,” they repeated, louder, clearer, like this would make Caleb understand. “The other day I saw you gutting a fish and it was a disaster, dear. So no pointy things, now I get it.”

“Right.” He didn’t exactly love where things were going. It was dangerous territory. “So you want to do _something_ that is… my thing?”

“Precisely.” They looked proud. Caleb, once again, found himself unable to outright reject what Molly was about to propose, even if he had a good idea of what was coming. Because they were so excited and earnest. Because they were thinking of Caleb and his needs again, and wasn’t that too kind? Much too kind for someone like himself.

So he bit the bait they cast.

“And my thing is…?”

“Fire!” There it was.

Caleb stared, as serious as he could muster. “Mollymauk Tealeaf.” The use of their full name seemed to get their attention, at least, but the excited tail swishing did not stop. “The only _thing_ I have for fire is respect and a healthy amount of fear. As should everyone.”

They did not look too perturbed, humming lightly while they sipped at their tea. “The other day I saw you set your hand on fire to toast your bread, dear.”

He felt himself blush, looking away, trying to find something else that was mildly interesting, but nothing really helped. Eventually, he sighed. “Touché.” More to make a point than anything, he set his hand on fire and let his bread char around the edges, just on the crust. “I won’t shoot your idea down immediately, Molly. But I am giving you some ground rules. Is that fair?”

Rather than nodding, Molly simply gave him an expectant look. Caleb spared a minute, chewing through his now-crunchy and warm bread, before continuing. “First of all: no shooting fire.”

The tiefling groaned, flopping backwards into the bed. “Come on, half of my ideas were you shooting fire!”

“Absolutely not. One fuck up and I could set someone ablaze.” He took a sip of tea, trying his damnedest not to break. This was the one thing he would be strict about with Molly. Anything else, he might have already bent. “Which brings me to my next rule: no setting anyone on fire.”

Molly sprang up to a sitting position, mouth opening to quip back. Caleb didn’t let them. “Do not even think about volunteering, Mollymauk.” They tried again, and Caleb held up his hand to stop them. “I know you are resistant to flames. Still not doing it.”

“Ugh, fine.” They flopped back down again, like the seesaw of a person they were, still eating bread and sending crumbs flying everywhere. Maybe investing in adding _Prestidigitation_ to his repertoire would be beneficial after all. “What if it’s just for flair?”

Caleb stopped at that, only slightly uncomfortable at the idea. “Well… Something like sparks and embers, you mean? Small?” They nodded, once again excited, and Caleb only slightly hated that it feels like a win to see them like that. “As long as it is not flair for juggling swords, I’m… open to it?”

They shot up, _again_ , tail perfectly straight. “Perfect! I’ll think about it, then.” They stood, swiping their hand messily over the covers to rid them of fallen crumbs. “I’m going into town and you are coming with with me, so eat your burnt toast and get ready, yeah?”

Caleb scoffed. “It’s perfectly toasted, I’ll have you know.”

“It looks like charcoal, _I’ll_ have you know.”

He took a bite, crunching with his teeth to make a point. “Rude.”

* * *

Caleb was glad Molly had dragged him along.

The town they had come to scope out did not seem worth it to him, but Molly still wanted to check a few places, which was how they had found themselves stepping into a tavern only for a couple men to scream at him about ‘ _that damn devil with you_.’ Instinctively, he had stepped between them but Molly had simply wound their arm around his and the two of them had walked up to the woman serving at the bar. They must be somewhat used to that reaction, which was both sad and infuriating.

He watched the men from where he stood with Molly. His knee ached just a little at the memory of the last angry drunks he had encountered. He owed them, he supposed, with how good things turned out for him in the end, but the sole idea of _Molly_ being in that position made his fingers crackle with arcane energy. They stared right back at him but turned eventually as a spark lit and sputtered to life between his fingers. He took a breath and killed it, tuning in to Molly’s conversation instead.

“Everyone as _colorful_ as you in there?” he heard the barmaid ask out loud, not sounding one bit perturbed by the hostility he is sure she has noticed.

“I’m the most colorful, for sure. Don’t you think so, Caleb?” They nudged him with their elbow, but Caleb simply shrugged.

“Well, either way. Not everyone here welcomes strangers, much less the more…” She pauses as she wipes a tankard dry, glancing at him then over at Molly, from the horns to their still unfinished coat, and she sighed. “Colorful?”

“Oh?”

“You walk in through the east?” They shook their heads in unison. “Ah, that explains a lot. We’ve been having bandit trouble for years and everyone is so fuckin’ jaded about anyone new now. Unfriendly signs and all were set up there.” She puts the now clean tankard down, grabbing a new one with a scowl on her face. “Terrible for commerce.”

“We hear you loud and clear, miss.” Mollymauk dug through their pockets, then smiled and left her with a couple silver pieces for her trouble as they turned to leave. “Thanks for the warning.”

Caleb once again found himself with his eyes trained on the angry drunk men, and he made sure they did not leave his gaze until he and Molly were out and across the street. By the time he turned to the tiefling again, they were smiling fondly at him. Neither of them said anything about it, but it still brought a blush to Caleb’s face. He cleared his throat, scrambling to talk about something else before Mollymauk lost all restraint and decided to pursue the conversation. “Town seems too troublesome, perhaps?”

“Eh.” They shrugged, freeing their arm from his so they could stretch, tall and then wide and then tall once again. “Yeah, pretty much. Not worth getting chased out. Not in the mood.”

“Not worth it,” he agreed.

“Nope,” they said, with a pop at the end of the word. “Let’s get out of here.”

They walked the streets, cutting through the smaller inner roads rather than the main avenue that connected the town from east to west. Better to stay in the shadows in problematic places, Caleb had learned not too long ago. The houses surrounding them were tall, towering from where they stood and impossibly close together. Old, tan stone formed walls and wonky corners and anchors squat doors, rounded at the top. Everything was moist, mossy, or moldy, Caleb couldn’t really tell without touching and it sounded like a terrible idea.

Messily constructed cobblestone guided them through the narrow streets, made almost cavernous by second-story walkways connecting residences above them. It would be interesting, pretty even, with some of them bursting with flower pots or old, rickety oil lamps, were it not so damn cold without the sun reaching them.

It made Caleb think of cramped, busy streets, stones slippery with rain as he struggled to keep up with old friends. He almost got lost in the thought when he felt hands on his shoulder. Molly had stopped walking, head cocked to one side, eyes darting as they concentrate on listening. “For fuck’s sake…” they mutter as they pull Caleb to the side through the smallest alleyway in the intersection they had found themselves in. Caleb couldn’t even open his mouth to question them before he heard it: the echo of hooves against stone, reverberating far and wide thanks to the cave-like setup.

“A chase?” he whispered as Molly pulled him even farther in, tail around his ankle.

“Not for us, if we’re lucky.”

“ _Scheiße,”_ he muttered. “We are fucked then.” Caleb couldn’t help the quirk of his lips as Molly swallowed a cackle, covering their mouth with one hand as the other smacked him on the shoulder.

Less than a minute later, they saw them. A small figure — a gnome or halfling? — darted past their hiding place, covered by robes and holding on for dear life to a single amber bottle. They could hear the horses trotting not too far behind and approaching fast. Caleb watched the figure dart from one side to the other, and he recognized the situation in a second. The rapid movement, the slight shake of their shoulders.

Fear. The kind you get from being all alone and out of options.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was slipping out of Molly’s grasp and moving forward out of the safety of the alley. He was grasping at cloth and pulling, scrambling back, dodging kicks and, were those _claws?_ There were hands on his coat, pulling along with him, and he could hear the _thump-thump-thump_ of an irritated tail lashing out against stone walls. “This is exactly why we are _not_ lucky!” Molly hissed behind him, holding him by the arm.

The figure turned and lashed out with her arms swatting and slapping, until she finally settled a few steps away from them. “Who the fuck are you two?!” she whispered harshly.

Molly wasn’t far behind in scream-whispering back. “Who the fuck are _you_?!”

Caleb moved between them. “SHH!”

Looking at her that close up with her hood pulled back, it was easy to see she was no gnome. Yellow, cat-like eyes glowered at him, wide as saucers. A gnarled, toothy snarl accompanied them. The small green goblin scrambled away from them, hugging what was clearly a liquor bottle to her chest. Caleb tried to reach her, just as the familiar feeling of a tail winding around his leg reached him and suddenly they all froze.

The sound of hooves and the shouts of angry men filled the intersection.

The goblin looked up at him, panicking. Caleb put a finger over his lip and raised a hand, trying to show he meant no harm, knowing she was out of options and how cornered she must feel. Thankfully, she did not make a sound. A tug guided him back, slowly, as Molly began to move them deeper into the alleyway, silent as mist. The goblin moved with them, even quieter, as if she were floating, and Caleb did his best to match them. Molly brought them all the way to the midpoint of the alleyway, where they found a tiny, narrow corridor, where the backs of houses didn’t quite meet.

Molly slid in, tail tucked at their side. Caleb went to follow.

And then he fucked up.

He kicked a stray stone and it tumbled, rolled, and crashed against the wall and echoed all through the alley. “What was that?!” they hear from the intersection, and before he can think of anything to save their skin, the goblin shrieked. He glanced toward Molly, who was already out of sight inside the alcove, and then he was pulled harshly back and thrown against a wall.

He forced himself to stand and then freeze.

A blade was at his throat, and then another at the back of his head, the tip of the blade going into his hair. The guards were growling at him, some rabid, some smug. No sparks flew from his fingertips as he lowered his hands.

“Have an accomplice, eh?” A guard of higher rank came into his field of vision, holding the goblin up by her cloak with one hand, and what he now could see was a bottle of some kind of wine on the other. “Working with pests, hm?” The goblin clawed and kicked, and the man simply laughed, bellowing and mean, and shook her roughly like she was nothing but a feral rat. Caleb only had to give a slight twitch for the blade at his throat to press ever so slightly at his pulse. “Careful, filth.”

The man smiled at his silence, like one does to a well trained dog, looking at the bottle in his hand. He opened it with his teeth, spitting the cork at Caleb’s feet and taking a swig. Caleb could smell the tart cherry aroma all the way from where he stood. “So these are the rats that have been stealing from the winery, hm?” The wizard opened his mouth to retort, only for the blade to twitch against him. He froze again. “Not an actual question.” The commander laughed again, as the goblin tried to claw and kick with renewed energy, just to be violently shaken into submission yet again.

“Well then.” The commander rounded him, holding the goblin higher up into his field of vision, sizing her up. “I’ll figure out what to do with you two tomorrow. For now…” He whistled, the rest of the guards moving in perfect unison to answer him, a well-oiled machine. He was grabbed by the arms, pulled back and bent painfully as they pulled him away, celebrating, taking swigs of cherry wine as they loudly planned what to do with them. Caleb heard none of it, watching the paths, the walkways, the cobbles and stone bricks, the moss and mold growing from it, but there is nothing to help him there.

And then he saw them.

Mollymauk stared at him from the shadows of the alley, red-on-red eyes burning like embers.

* * *

They were pulled past corridors and alleyways and tunnels through the city and, even as Caleb tried to keep himself sharp, tried to learn the way, there are so many turns he couldn’t help but get confused. They tugged at his coat, but thankfully did not check him well enough to notice his books or component pouch, too distracted either with shaking the poor goblin or taking turns drinking the stolen wine.

The empty bottle ends up discarded off the side of a building, shattered glass scattering on the cobbles.

Soon enough, they were shoved inside a building, short, squat, and cold, standing in the shadow of its towering neighbors. Through the main room they went, shoved into a smaller side office and deeper into long, dark hallways, lit by old and stained metal braziers hanging off the walls, spitting and sputtering weak flames. Doors lined the long walls, along with old, empty crates, discarded soiled cloth, and muddy remnants of hay.

A door opened before him and he was pushed in harshly inside, spilling on the floor, scraping his hands. By the time he turned, the goblin was being thrown in after him, rolling all the way against the opposite wall.

Laughter filled his ears as the guards shut the door after them with a bang. Nothing but silence after that for what felt like an hour, but was actually only five minutes.

“That was stupid,” the goblin finally says as she sat and crawled towards a corner, as far as she can be from him, though it isn’t much. Arm’s length at most, as he sits in the middle of their cell.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes, looking around as he muttered. _“Ja,_ I am well aware.”

“Then why did you do it?”

Why indeed? He hadn’t even thought about it, really. He would love to think that he had done it because it was right. Something simple like that, but would that be true? Him, bloody and dirty, risking his life for a little goblin girl he didn’t know? No. No, that didn’t sound right. He was a selfish creature at heart, had always been.

It had been self destruction, the true catalyst for this new predicament.

No need to explain to the carnival he wasn’t worth the trouble. No need to sneak out in the middle of the night. No need for the pain of thinking of Molly waking up alone one morning. No. This was an excuse. An out. A calculated risk, he would say, but had it really been calculated at all? He had taken it without thinking, because there would be no opportunity to second guess himself if it went wrong. No sitting in the dark for hours debating with himself whether he should go. He would simply be gone, and that would be that.

And yet, it hurt.

His breath was shallow and his hands were shaking. Because the way Mollymauk had looked as they watched Caleb dragged away hadn’t been of sadness or fear, not even anger. It had been pure, unchecked determination.

That absolute _idiot_ was going to try something.

And it hurt.

What if Molly got in trouble because of him? What if they got arrested? From what he could tell this damned town wouldn’t be very kind to a tiefling, let alone one that was such a _little shit_. And in a jail cell… who knew what could happen to them? What if Caleb had dragged them down already? What if, even with all his attempt to keep Mollymauk away from the dangers he brought, from the Assembly, from his brainwashed brothers and sisters, from his past, from his _Master_ , he had pulled them into hell anyway?

What if he got them hurt? What if he got them trapped? What if he got them killed?

_No. Absolutely not._

Caleb would accept many things. He would accept any pain, any humiliation, any punishment. He would accept death itself, had since long ago, many times over. But he would not accept pulling Mollymauk Tealeaf down with him. Never.

And he suspected the little goblin curled in the corner didn’t deserve it either, famed thief of cherry wine or not. He turned towards her and looked, really _looked_ at her, all bundled up in tattered clothes with her hood all the way down to her brows. She stared right back, unabashed. “What even is your name?” she asked in a high voice, accusing, perhaps, but not unkind. He hadn’t even looked at her in detail, he realized, but then again, she kept herself hidden well enough.

“Caleb.” He shifted against the wall he sat by, extended an arm towards her, offering a hand. “Caleb Widogast.” She looked taken aback, but hurried to wipe her hand against her clothe before taking his.

“Nott.” They shook hands. “Nott the Brave.”

Caleb took a deep breath and looked around once more. With the clarity that steady breathing brings, he could actually notice where he was. It is a cell, yes. Trapped, yes. But it also was a very shitty jail. Stone walls, of course, but they are in a room with a wooden door. Reinforced by iron, sure, but still, that said a lot about the rest of the building. “How would you like to get the hell out of here, Nott the Brave?”

She gave a short laugh, waving her hands around. “I think that would be fan-fucking-tastic, but _how_ , Caleb?” He didn’t answer, and instead walked to the door, pressing his ear against it. Three guards that he could hear, who knew how many he couldn’t. The numbers were against them. “I mean, I would love, _love_ , to stick a wire in that lock and _clickity-clack-snap_ out of here but _woof_!” He thought as she talked and mimed invisible thieves tools, allowing himself snippets of knowledge and practice from a decade ago, from _before_. If they can’t have numbers, then they’ll have to have surprise. They’ll have to have boldness. And Nott the Brave was going to help him. He snapped his fingers as he walked to the small — too small — barred window near the ceiling, and Frumpkin appeared on his shoulders with a plume of purplish fae stuff.

Nott gasped beside him. When Caleb turned to look at her, there was a light in her eyes that he found both familiar and scary. There was wonder, and to that he related to intimately. The arcane is beautiful, he reminded himself, when you see it up close for the first time. The terrifying part is that he also saw hope in her eyes, and he was afraid to shatter that to pieces if his idea didn’t work.

“You’re a mage…” she said slowly.

“A wizard.” Caleb lifted Frumpkin as far as he could, stretching tall so that his cat could reach the ledge of the window, watching him pass through the bars easily. “Can you pick that lock?” he asked, pointing at the door. Nott nods, and they both glance up towards Frumpkin. “Listen, _Katze_. Find me a wire so this one can pick the door.” He swallows hard, as he remembers Mollymauk’s propensity for troublemaking once again. “If you see the menace doing something stupid, do your best to stop them. If not, just hurry back with that wire, _ja_?”

They watched the cat turn, bum to them, and jump off to the outside.

Caleb allowed himself to hope.

* * *

“How do you know your cat is not just going to fuck off and not come back?” Several hours had gone by and Nott was, understandably, bored. Losing hope, perhaps. Through their little window, they watched the sun go down, and the reds and oranges of the sunset moved toward the telling pink and indigos of a coming night. He sighed.

“Because he is not _just_ a cat.”

A hum answered him, Nott rolling in her corner toward him so she can stare at him, yellow eyes now glowing in the dark. It was slowly becoming all Caleb could see other than the warm glow coming from beneath the door. “I still don’t know what that means. He isn’t cat?”

“He _is_ a cat,” he insisted. She groaned. He sighed again, then cleared his throat. “He is a fey creature that can take many forms. He just prefers being a cat.” He began explaining, and that finally brought back her attention. He could see less and less of her in the dark, but he could still hear her scoot closer to him. “He will come back, because he obeys my commands, as my familiar.”

“So he’s a servant?”

“ _Nein_. He is a friend that does me favors. And the best cat in the world.”

“And ‘the menace?’” He turned toward her, or where he thought she was, cocking his head in confusion. “You said that if he saw ‘ _the menace_ …’”

“Ah. Molly.” What _was_ Molly? It would take too long to call them _‘the idiot who decided to save my life_ ,’ or ‘ _the crazy person that for some reason thinks it is worth it to keep me alive_.’ “A friend.” he said, and yet it didn’t feel like enough, so he added to it despite the heat that he felt on his cheeks. “A dear one.”

A beat of silence. “Uh-huh,” she said. “The tiefling?”

Oh. He cleared his throat, turning to the other side to hide his blush. Darkvision couldn’t see color anyway, right? _“Ja,_ the tiefling.”

“The tiefling,” she repeated, and Caleb could _hear_ the smile on her face. They thankfully didn’t get very far into that conversation, as a low meow interrupted them. They both snapped up to look at the window, the shadow of a cat sneaking past the bars and jumping down, trotting towards Caleb. He immediately picked Frumpkin up as the cat dropped a sturdy piece of copper wire into his palm. He allowed himself a minute just to hug his cat. _“Du bist der beste,”_ he told him as he planted a kiss between his ears and the familiar swatted at him, grabbing at his shoulder to climb over him and around his neck. With his hands free, Caleb ignited his fingertips, just enough to be able to see the goblin as he handed her the wire. “Ready to get out?”

Excitement exploded on her face, as she nodded and scrambled to the door. Their plan comes to action, ill-conceived as it was.

* * *

“Fire!” he screamed. The way his voice went hoarse at the end was both familiar and heartbreaking. Another hour had gone by, between talking and planning and lockpicking, and he still felt like they were flying by the seat of their pants.

They had opened the door just a sliver, enough for Caleb to send sparks into the mess of abandoned, empty boxes by the corner. They had been damp, and it had taken many tries, but they had a small blaze going. The braziers on the wall also burned brighter, too bright, for effect.

“HELP!” Nott shouted soon after, louder than he could bring himself to. “FIRE!” The people in the cell in front of them began to scream as well, with real fear, and Caleb had to grip the doorknob tighter to still himself. No one was in real danger of burning with him on watch, he told himself. No one was going to get hurt.

But it was too close to comfort. What if he fucked it up? What if the whole prison burned with all of them inside? The smell, the screams…

He was brought out of his thoughts as Nott pulled at his coat, her head cocked to one side. A second later he heard them. Guards running in, cursing and screaming at each other. They waited, Nott pressing her ear against the wooden door and watching Caleb, holding her hands up for him to stay. Then she held six fingers up. He gnawed at his lip. Six guards, that was not good. Then she straightened, made a face, lowered three fingers. Better. Much better.

Ears pressed to the door, they looked at each other by the light of Caleb’s burning hand, and they listened.

They counted together.

They heard the guards, a cacophony of men, afraid, running like headless chickens right by them.

They nodded at each other, then burst out.

Caleb killed the fire — all the fire — with a flick of his wrist and was plunged into darkness along with everyone else. The other prisoners still screamed, now demanding, some begging, figuring out this was a planned escape. The guards screamed as well, a mix of anger and panic, and Caleb heard the unmistakable grinding of blades being unsheathed. Fear coiled low in his belly as he stepped back against the wall and, for a second, he thought of how stupid he was, running head first into this with a person he had known for all but 6 hours and 23 minutes.

And then he felt himself being tugged to the side by his coat arm from below. “MOVE!” a sharp voice screeched at him, and he forced his legs to act.

In the death of darkness, he allowed a little goblin girl to guide him from one side of the damp corridor to the other. He felt panic rising up his throat at the sounds of confusion and rage that surrounded him, but he did not stop moving and she never let go. Caleb held his free hand in front of him and the relief that washed over him when it collided with a wooden surface was palpable. A door. A second later light filled his vision and he was pulled through.

Blindly, he shut it closed behind him, just as Nott pushed the wooden beam that functions as a lock in front of it. For good measure, Caleb smacked a hand over it and forced arcane energy into the wood, willing it to turn to iron. He marked one hour in his mind.

By the time he turned to look, Nott was staring up at him. Cable stared back, and then they both laughed, nervous and quiet, as they looked around the room. They didn’t have much time.

And yet, there were a bunch of open bags _right there._ He cleared his throat, avoiding looking directly at Nott, though he knew she was rubbing her hands together. “You know…” he started, “I would not be opposed if you wanted to take a minute to…”

“Five,” she countered.

He considered. “Three,” he rebutted, and cleared his throat. “And you share any spell components you find.”

“Deal.” She ran off, carelessly rummaging through bags and drawers as Caleb moved to press his ear to the other door in the room, the one that was most likely to take them to their freedom. He watched her pick bits and baubles, taking a swig of what he assumed was lukewarm beer, and he couldn’t help but snort at her scrunched-up nose at the taste. It was probably more akin to piss than alcohol.

The guards trapped on the other side of the door pushed against it. It didn’t budge.

She looked over two minutes into it, wide-eyed and excited, holding up a golden ring with delicate filigree surrounding a rougher looking stone. _DIAMOND_ , Nott mouthed, excited, as she placed the ring upon her finger and admired it, sighing like a young girl meeting her first love.

 _Three_ , he mouthed back, and just as she reached him they heard a crack. They froze as the guards trapped on the other side pounded at the door harder and harder, throwing themselves at it, perhaps. The wood chips.

With no time left, ready to run or fight or play dirty, the two burst through the next door.

Just in time to see a purple tiefling knocking the only guard guard in sight with the pommel of their blade.

Caleb stared, and red-on-read eyes met his own as Molly surged forward, unconscious man forgotten. They extended their arms to reach him, hands landing on his shoulders and then sliding up toward his neck, finally settling on his jaw, cradling his head. He let them turn him this way and that and felt them push his hair back.

“Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?”

Taken aback, eyes wide, Caleb could barely get the words out. “No, I…”

“Great!” Their tail smacked him on the side hard, near his hip, and they held his head harder, tighter, over his cheeks. Their fangs were bared and eyes burning, furious. “The fuck were you thinking?! I thought you were smart?!”

“Molly, I…”

Their hands pressed even harder, but never painfully, mushing his cheeks and grabbing at his stubble. “No, shut up!” He watched them lean forward and press their foreheads together. “I’m going to beat your ass.” Despite the situation, the position, the feeling of wide yellows eyes boring onto them, Caleb laughed at that, small and shaky.

“Wouldn’t that defeat the…” He didn’t get to finish.

All hell broke loose.

A crash came from the previous room followed by furious footsteps as the three guards they had trapped burst through the barred door, blades out and bows at the ready. Molly pulled him hard, just in time for arrows to whistle past his ear as he found himself rolling on the ground with the tiefling. They both scrambled and pushed with their feet, backs colliding against a toppled-over table.

Caleb looked around, fear returning with a vengeance, and on the other side of room he spotted Nott scrambling behind an old, half-rotted crate. Arrows whizzed through the air and impacted where they were standing, and then thumped and cracked against the table, one all the way through next to Molly’s head. Caleb wanted to panic again. He wanted to scream, to cry, but he couldn’t. Not now.

He looked at Nott one more time and noticed the gleaming stone on her finger.

Pieces fell into place in his mind and arcane embers sparked from his fingertips. “Nott!” he shouted as she pressed herself against the wooden crate in an attempt to hide. It was not helping. “The diamond! Give me the diamond!”

She looked incredulous, hugging her jeweled hand against her chest. “Is it really the time to split our loot?!”

Molly surged forward, over Caleb, and even if they aren’t sure what he wanted the damn stone for, even if they didn’t exactly understand, they seemed to trust him enough to be on his side. “Give him the damn diamond!”

He could see the despair in her eyes, the lack of trust, and he doesn’t blame her, really. But then an arrow impacted itself on their table right where Caleb’s head would have been if it had gone through. He can’t help the panic in his expression, and that seemed to be enough for her. She pulled at the stone and yanked it off and chucked it at him.

Caleb barely caught the thing, having to duck out from behind the boxes covering him and skid on the floor. A guard ran toward him, blade out, and he heard a hissing _something someone dark damned not for me not for me not for me and_ the guard’s eyes were suddenly pitch black and thick with bloody tears and Mollymauk was barreling into them with full force. Caleb didn’t even have time to process _that_.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he had the diamond in his fingers, arcane energy crackling and spitting out of it as Caleb made it spin. A second later there was a surge and a boom. His ears rang, Molly’s too probably, but especially the guards’, who held their hands over their ears, blood dripping through their fingers.

A small hand grabbed his and pulled him back, out. His own arm shot and grabbed Molly by the scruff of his coat and he yanked them back because they were _leaving_. They ran and ran through alleys and streets. They rounded corners and pressed into alcoves as furious screams failed to follow them. Neither Molly nor Nott ever let go of Caleb’s hands, guiding him in the dark.

Soon enough they were out through a side exit, running through alleys and along mossy-moldy walls, and out into fields. The light of the moon guided them as they all ran for their lives, stumbling and huffing as they scrammed through the tall grass and into the safety of the dark forest nearby. Globules of light bubbled to life around Caleb.

They ran and ran, all the way toward the clearing where their camp had been set up, stopping just at the tree line. Caleb was exhausted, physically and mentally and emotionally. He took minutes to catch his breath, bent over, hands on his knees. “I’m not built for that,” he mumbled, finally, only for both Molly and Nott to laugh.

“You did pretty well, considering.” Nott said as she patted her pockets, full of coin and loot. Caleb approached her and offered the diamond back, but she simply shook her head. “Keep it. More useful with you.” He smiled, even as she cleared her throat and made an attempt to put on a serious face. “But I keep the coin.”

“Fair.”

“Hardly.” Mollymauk added, beside him.

They shared a moment of silence — 47 seconds, if Caleb’s internal clock was as accurate as always — and then Nott shuffled awkwardly to one side. “Well. I’m leaving. Nice knowing you, weirdos.” She turned on her heel and hurried away, clearly making an attempt to not look back, but failing a couple times. Her eyes always met Caleb’s.

7 hours and 4 minutes. That was how long he knew Nott the Brave. And it was making him sad. He worried at his lip and turned as he heard Molly snort beside him, eyes wide.

“Don’t look at me like that. As if I would say no, please.” Molly muttered by his side. “Go ahead.” Caleb turned to look at them, illuminated by his amber light, lavender warmer than ever, helped by their smile. “I’ll talk to Gustav and Desmond, don’t worry. You know strays are welcomed. And she’s fun. I like her.” They gave him a little push on his lower back, and smiled. “Go.”

He took a moment and then nodded, running towards her before she decided to get sneaky and impossible to reach. “Nott! Nott the Brave! Wait!”

“What!? What?!” She turned, shifting side to side, tiny dagger out, but stops when she saw it was Caleb. He took a couple deep breaths, trying to keep his composure, then cocked his head toward the lights of the carnival tents.

“Do you want to come with us?”

“What? _Where?_ ”

“East, probably.” He shrugged, but he could tell she was unsure, afraid perhaps. “When they took me in I was a crippled and half-dead. I don’t think you have to worry about a thing.” She turned toward the bonfire light visible from where they stood, warm and welcoming, and he wondered what sort of dinner they’d have that night. “There’s food. It’s free.”

She looked at him again, and that look from inside their cell returned as she gazed at his globules of light around him. Awe and hope. She immediately schooled her expression and cleared her throat. Her shrill voice came out formally, as formally as she could manage. “I’ll smother you in your sleep if this is a trick.”

That made him smile for some messed-up reason. “I would expect nothing less, Nott the Brave.” He felt Molly behind him, hand on his shoulder, and he offered his own to Nott. “Let’s go.”

She took it, with only a beat of hesitation, and they went.

They went into the camp that night and no one batted an eye at their new companion. Molly did slip away with Gustav and Desmond for a spell, but they came back all smiles and arms full of dinner plates. Nott stared the whole time, eyes wide and shining in the darkness, unsure but too hungry to question it all. Caleb understood.

That night the three of them shared the tent, Nott camouflaged on a mess of pillows in a corner probably watching everything in the dark. Molly and Caleb laid curled facing each other, and even though the wizard couldn’t see a thing in the dark he could feel eyes on him. Eventually, a hand came to rest on his jaw, thumb over his throat, on his pulse. He whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“You scared the shit out of me,” he heard, and wished he could see their expression. Since he couldn’t, he curled a little tighter on himself.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and then he felt the hand on his jaw slide down and he was being pulled gently by the shoulder. He realized Molly was giving him time to move away, to keep space between them, but he had neither the energy nor the heart for that, so he scooted forward. His head ended up tucked beneath Molly’s, forehead pressed against their clavicle as their chin rested on the crown of his head. He placed an arm around their waist and stayed still. Molly surrounded him by the shoulder and squeezed. Caleb didn’t dare do the same. Not yet. “You scared me too,” he said instead.

“When? I wasn’t pulled away by armed guards.”

 _“Nein._ But the look you had when they took me, I…” He closed his eyes, tucking himself even further in and speaking as quietly as he could, like he didn’t really want Molly to hear him. “I kept thinking you were going to do something stupid, like burst in with scimitars out. Or that you would get arrested on purpose. Or… I don’t even know. Something stupid.”

“Not going to lie” they began, smile in their voice. “I did think about that.” All Caleb could do was sigh.

“Idiot.”

“Asshole.”

“Menace.”

They cackled. “Takes one to know one.”

Caleb groaned, too tired to keep going, pressing his forehead firmer against their collarbone. “Fine. I’ll give you that one.”

“You didn’t give me shit, I won fair and square.” He felt them speak, chest rumbling against where his forehead rested. He only dignified them with a hum as an answer, and that seemed good enough for Molly, as they did not speak again.

They fell into a lighter silence after that, and Caleb could finally _think_. Though he didn’t want to.

It was not the first time he found himself falling asleep being held by the tiefling. Each time it happened it was easier, felt more natural, less terrifying. It was safe, even. Warmer than anything, but never _hot-burning_. It quieted the voice in the back of his head that called him _monster-thing-garbage_ , just for a moment. Maybe it was the smell of lavender. Maybe it was the fact that Molly purred against him, almost like a cat. Or that he felt them nuzzle against the top of his head. He couldn’t think too hard about it, or he’d ruin it all.

Would he? Did he dare?

 _Just this once_ , he told himself, as he tightened his grip around Mollymauk Tealeaf’s middle. _Just this once._

* * *

They had moved the very next day. ‘Bad news, that town,’ everyone said, patting both Caleb and Molly on the back and introducing themselves to Nott. No one had turned up their nose at her, and by the look of her, she was both relieved and very worried for them. That was something to unpack at a later date.

There was music by the campfire that night. The group in charge of playing during the shows was apparently trying to come up with new material. Caleb suspected they had simply been especially bored that night and, really, who would complain about an impromptu dance session? Not even he and his social anxiety could.

Dinner had been a short, rushed ordeal, and now there were couples spinning around laughing, or clusters of people just swaying together. Caleb sat on the sidelines, propped against a cart, just enjoying the sight.

He could see Gustav and Desmond, cheerily drunk, arms wound together by the elbow and spinning around while Bo fussed over them, ready for one to trip. Yuli and Mona were hard at work, spinning around Ornna, laughing and teasing, trying to get her to dance with them. She didn’t look convinced, but her fond smiled betrayed her.

Molly was nowhere to be found. Strange for them to miss a single chance to peacock around. Nott wasn’t nearby either. Hopefully the two were playing nice.

He didn’t have much time to wonder about it, as he felt a tug on his coat. Looking down he found Toya, hands full of coat and looking towards the dancers, biting her lip. A little sad, maybe? “Miss Toya?” No answer. She turned away from him, blushing lightly all the way to her ears.

Ah, nervous then. Not sad. He understood that.

He never thought before that moment that he had a soft spot for children, but the firm tug at his heartstrings was enough for him to realize that, at least for this girl, he did. And anyway, who was he to question a young lady wishing to dance?

The music changed to a waltz, light and airy and familiar, and his mind was made up.

“Miss Toya, would you like to dance? I, ah, actually know this one song.” Her head snapped up to look at him, clearly surprised, but soon enough she was beaming up at him. Without another word, he was being pulled towards the improvised dance floor, only for the girl to freeze. All the nervousness seemed to return to her and, oh, Caleb knew that feeling perfectly.

Taking her hands as gently as he could, he guided her to step on his feet and held her there. Gently, he began to move, working through the steps as he counted in a hushed voice for her to learn.

 _One - two - three - one - two - three,_ he started. _Eins - zwei - drei - eins - zwei - drei,_ it became. He thought of a small, cluttered kitchen that smelled like baked apples and cinnamon. He thought of his mother, teaching him just like that, gentle and patient and smiling. For the first time in a long time, the memory did not destroy him. It didn’t break his barely held-together heart all over again. It just made him smile and spin with Toya, who held his hands firmly and giggled all the while.

By the time the song was done, the girl was confident enough to move on her own, and Caleb had taught her how to spin and come back to him and then turn together to do it all over again. She looked delighted, and his heart was full. They stopped soon after, and he allowed her to pull him down into a hug, slight arms around his neck, holding tight.

“Thank you, Mr. Caleb.” And then she was off, probably towards Kylre, hopefully with a happy story to tell.

By the time he went back to his sitting spot, Molly was waiting for him. Nott too, looking frazzled, but with new clothes and braids in her hair. That explained a lot.

Before he could even make it the whole way to them, Molly took a few long strides toward him and immediately held his hands, raising them and looking so damned earnest and excited. Their eyes sparkled and Caleb knew he was utterly _fucked_.

“I have an idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell where I gave Caleb a Natural 1 and where I gave him a Natural 20?
> 
> This chapter was a little hard for me to write. Mostly because escape scene? What even IS that? Why have I chosen to have ACTION SCENES?
> 
> Why do I have a fight scene next chapter too?
> 
> Speaking of next chapter. I’m going to be moving a tad slower with the rest of this story, as I have gone back to work. That January rush, haha. Sobs. 
> 
> Again, I’m moonbonniewrites on tumblr, if y'all wanna talk or see some of my inspo for this fic.
> 
> Thanks for the read!


	4. Morning Dew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm rolls in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!
> 
> Well, this took longer that I expected, but I am here now, with the longest chapter yet.
> 
> Just real quick, I want to mention that I have a beta now! Thank you very much to the wonderful Chai_Teafling for taking the time to proofread my mess and being so nice about it.
> 
> And thank you to everyone who left me some love last chapter, as always.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

_834 P.D._   
_Summer_

They’d been at it for weeks.

Every night before dinner, be it on the road or camp or show night, Molly would run to him, all smiles and excitement. Caleb’s heart would stutter every single time the tiefling grabbed him by the arm, pulling him towards the back of the tent area, where they could be all alone.

They would dance by evening sun, warm and fuzzy with golden light, swaying and spinning and jumping. And it was lovely.

He couldn’t see it yet, Molly’s vision for their act, but that did not stop him from indulging them. He’d seen drawing, swirls of ink of suns and moons and stars. He’d watched over their shoulder as scribbles of intricate embroidery projects came to life. The musicians were in the know as well, talking about waltzes among each other with thoughtful expressions. Gustav seemed excited, walking alongside Mollymauk and scribbling notes into a worn paperback notebook. Story beats, perhaps.

Whatever the tiefling was planning, Caleb was sure it would be grand. It would fit right along with the Knot Sisters and the Fire Fairy. It was also nerve-wracking. Then again, seeing the tiefling that happy made it worth it. Caleb would worry about the rest later.

First: rhythm.

“You have the steps down already, but we have to move,” Caleb said, stepping off his coat. Frumpkin watched from the ground, pawing at a soft, grassy spot, warmed by the sun. They stood next to each other, Molly’s tail swaying gently from side to side behind them.

“Yes, yes, you keep saying move, but what else are we going to move?”

Caleb stepped up and waited for the tiefling to take position as well. They were always the one to initiate, waiting for him to get close enough to even attempt to grab him. “We are supposed to spin. And glide across the dance floor and all that, and Molly…” he told them, as their hands came together. “Molly, if I fall on my face again because of your tail, I will scream.”

They glared, releasing his hand to gesticulate wildly. “That only happened—”

“Five times.” Caleb lifted his hand, showing Molly five fingers, plus one partially bent. “And a half, if you count that one time you caught me.” A beat of silence after that is all that it takes to have Molly snorting, nodding, and then, finally, grabbing his hand once again.

“What if I keep catching you?” They looked at Caleb, smiling all smug and confident. A menace through and through, but by that point Caleb was growing used to it, and so he simply placed a hand on their upper back and waited for Molly to place their own on over his shoulder.

He hummed an answer, and allowed himself the time to adjust his stance, straighter than usual. No use in dancing hunched over, he had been many times told before. “I’ll still scream, probably, but not as loud.” They began stepping around each other after that. _Eins - Zwei - Drei, Eins - Zwei - Drei_ , he had muttered the first few times, though Molly hardly needed it, graceful as they were, even lacking real music.

They had decided Caleb should guide, as he was the more experienced dancer, at least in their current style. He could tell either way that Molly was _aching_ to guide themself. Apparently, there was a point in their act where they wanted to switch. _Part of the story,_ they had told Caleb, but nothing else. _Trust the vision._

Well, as long as he didn’t trip.

Or worse, step on Molly. Step on Molly’s _tail_. That had happened once and it would _never_ happen again.

Shuddering at both the too-clear memory and the idea of it happening once again, Caleb moved them to glide, making a wide circle around the area they had randomly set up as ‘ _the ballroom.’_ As they had no music, he let Molly hum. Good for rhythm, easier to keep pace, and, he had to admit, _really damn nice._ It reminded him of laying in bed together, while he read and they embroidered, so close to finishing the coat. Or of time spent with the tiefling washing Caleb’s hair, yet again, spilling compliments between notes like it was second nature. It was closeness and warmth and every day more familiar.

And they had _a thing_ now.

It was fragile and contentious and absolutely terrifying sometimes, but they had a thing, and Caleb didn’t have the energy to fight it. Or that was what he kept telling himself because admitting that he wanted this thing to be _a thing_ was, frankly, too much for his heart to handle.

And so, he hesitantly participated. Molly would lean on him at dinner, steal from his plate sometimes, but more often than not they would slide extra pieces of meat into Caleb’s portion, from their own plate, instead. They had picked bits of olives off and out of each other’s plates, grumbling and glaring, for crying out loud. Nott had eaten them happily. Then, at night, they would arrive to their shared tent, their shared bed, and they would lay down next to each other until the sound of Nott’s gentle snores reached them from her private corner. Then, and only then, would Molly extend an arm at him.

Always an option, never a demand.

Caleb hadn’t denied them yet. He wasn’t sure he ever would. So, he would turn and scoot toward the tiefling, toward their warmth, and Molly would meet him halfway there. They would wind an arm around the wizard and pull him just slightly, enough for Caleb to rest his head on their shoulder, or maybe his forehead against their clavicle. Either way, his head always ended up tucked beneath their chin. One time he had woken up with their cheeks pressed together. There had been a bit of slobber, a bit of stubble burn, and Molly had laughed about it all the way through breakfast.

It was casual. Natural. Domestic, even, and their regular dance lessons were only amplifying that feeling.

“I think you should spin me now,” Molly whispered, looking somewhere behind Caleb.

“Are you sure?” He watched them nod and take position, turning their head at a sharper angle away from him, shoulders straight and pushed back, waiting for Caleb’s cue. He laughed just a little as he bent back slightly. Then he paused, asking, “forgetting something?”

Mollymauk almost stumbled, then groaned. “Aye.” And they held their tail higher, far away from their feet. “I’m still going to smack you with it, probably.”

“I know,” he told them, as they both took their positions. “And it’s fine, I can take it.”

They started swaying, stepping side to side together while Molly hummed a rhythm for them, three-timed and a little too fast. Once they fell into a comfortable pace, following each other closely, more confident than ever, Caleb went for the spin, slow at first, stepping around Mollymauk’s feet, as the tiefling did the same, bending back a little more. They spun with flourish and poise, fast and in unison, and neither of them noticed their humming had ended until they too stopped, staring at each other, eyes full of mirth. 

_That was perfect_ , Caleb thought, breathless, chest hurting from the thumping of his heart. And then he felt a smack right on the ass, Molly’s tail flailing free and whipping back from the momentum.

A beat of silence.

And then Mollymauk lost it, bending forward and wheezing with laughter. “I told you!”

“That was not what I meant when I said I could take it,” Caleb huffed.

“I know, I know!” They stood back up, straight and attempting a formal stance, but Caleb could see the crinkling around their eyes, how they bit at their lower lip, and he knew they were swallowing down laughter. “Alright, I have an idea.” They lifted their tail, made it a point to move it slowly, carefully, around Caleb’s waist, then let it drop and hang off his hip.

“Ah.” He made an effort not to look affected by that closeness. “That could work.”

“Mh-hm.” They gave him a look, one Caleb knew well. It was one of hesitation and hope. It was asking permission and approval. Considerate. He nodded, they smiled, then bounced back, excited, tail tightening just a smidgen around him. “Can I lead this time?”

“Sure.”

They danced together, and playfully around each other, gliding round and round to an imaginary beat. Their joined hands dipped low and rose as they turned and switched direction. Molly’s tail stayed snuggly around his hip, keeping him from stepping too far and pulling him in close, always gentle. It was not the first time someone had done that to Caleb, tried to make him swoon with smooth dance moves, but it had never been so welcomed. If only Molly wasn’t aware of just how well their plan was working, but if their smile was anything to go by…

Smug bastard.

Playing along, Caleb switched things and began to lead once again, their turns changing direction as well. Molly, to their credit, barely startled at the change. “I’ve been thinking,” he spoke, trying to sound casual but probably failing miserably. “We are going to need a closing statement for this, right?”

“Oh?” Molly let him increase the tempo, just a tad, as the wizard held their hands a little tighter and guided them into a swaying walk across their fantasy ballroom. “You have something in mind, Mister Caleb?”

“Perhaps I do, Mister Mollymauk.” They turned in place once, then twice. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Well then.” Caleb guided them into a final turn together and used the force of it to his advantage. Releasing Molly’s shoulder, he pulled on their joined hands to guide them away from himself. Following suit, he felt their tail release him, just in time for their hands to raise together as Caleb made them spin twice, in a flourishing finish. Of course, Molly, in their infinite wisdom, reacted immediately, posing along with their free arm outstretched. Their joined hands never separated.

Caleb raised their hands a bit higher as he lowered his head, a courteous bow. Molly followed suit, doing an interesting yet beautiful mix between a curtsy and bow, one leg stepping back and away and dipping low.

When they rose and finally separated enough to actually look at each other, Molly seemed amused, a darker, warmer purple adorning their cheeks. “You smooth fucker,” they said, looking at him appreciably with a perfectly-shaped eyebrow raised. Caleb ducked his head and bent to pick up Frumpkin from his sunny spot on the grassy ground, paws up. He shrugged.

“It happens sometimes.”

* * *

Something that had changed in the time Caleb had been at the carnival was that riding on top of the carts was now common practice. Good visibility, fresh air, and no one got too tired from walking or too stir crazy from riding inside.

This day in particular, nice and sunny, Caleb found himself sitting crosslegged at the top his usual cart, the one called ‘ _the attic_ ,’ fingers stained with chalk. Not the fancy type used to draw circles and sigils and runes for his practice, but the kind given to children to draw on the streets or walls. Toya, who shared with him for the day, was doing a valiant effort to completely cover the wooden surface with flowers and bees and the odd butterfly. Nott sat nearby as well, watching him intently, as he drew a sigil one more time.

“You see the loopy tail?” He drew it again, flicking his wrist to finish, her eyes following the stroke. “That’s the most important thing. That it finishes nice and thin.” She gnawed at her lower lip, taking her own piece of chalk, a canary yellow, and tried it one more time. Frowning, she went on and on, and again, and again, try after try. “You are good at this,” Caleb told her.

Nott scoffed, trying yet again, and then again. Her interest in the arcane had been obvious since the very moment she saw him poof Frumpkin into existence. Once she had grown more confident around him, she had started asking about spells, about schools of magic, delighted at hearing he was a Transmutation student. She asked about basic concepts she had a vague idea about, about spell components, about how they related to alchemy. It had been wonderful. Caleb was more than happy to have someone to talk about magic with, and so, their friendship had launched.

“I keep fucking it up.”

“Ah.” He took his bright orange chalk once more. “But you keep trying it.” He did it one more time, slower, even if that meant messing it up, for her to see the movement, and then once again at normal speed. “You know what the most important aptitude for a wizard is?”

“Intelligence,” she answered confidently.

“Well, that is important, yes.” He settled, elbow propped on his knee and chin resting his palm. “But I honestly think that being a stubborn little shit is more important.” That startled a laugh out of her, determination filling her expression. “And then curiosity. You have both of those things in heaps. Plus, you _are_ smart.”

They fell into silence after that, her shoulders more relaxed, as she practiced again and again until, with a perfect flick of her wrist, different than how Caleb did it but just as effective, she got a perfect, loopy, little rune. She stopped dead in her tracks then popped up, arm high above her head, brandishing her chalk like a trophy.

Her excitement was contagious. Caleb remembered that feeling, his first rune, his first cantrip, his first spell. “You got it!” he exclaimed, watching her stretch and then, suddenly, plop back down into a slouchy sitting position.

“I don’t think I’m cut out to be a wizard, Caleb.”

“You could be,” he answered, confident in both her stubbornness and willingness to learn. “But you don’t have to be a full wizard to use magic. I could teach you some spells, as I figure them out. Add them to your crossbow, maybe.” She was terrifyingly accurate with that thing. He had seen her practicing one day when their caravan stopped earlier in the day, sun still out and bright. She had missed only four shots, out of 27.

“Yeah. Yeah, I could do that. Make shit explode.” Oh no. Well. Let her dream and figure out the consequences at a later date. Much later.

A comfortable silence fell over them after that. Toya walked over to them to draw little cats around Caleb, glancing up at him expectantly, but saying nothing. He took the hint and popped Frumpkin into existence next to her and instructed him to watch her draw.

“So.” Nott settled beside him and looked toward a group that had decided to walk for a while. The twins and Molly and one of the musicians were among them. The tiefling talked to them excitedly, gesturing wildly with both hands and their tail. “When are you telling Molly you aren’t sure about the fire.”

Ah. Right.

Nott had noticed his tension around flames. Not so much at creating small, controlled things, _safely_ , but the moment someone got too close, his hackles raised. A couple days before, Ornna had burned her hand on a heavy iron pot. It was something quick, nothing a salve and cool water couldn’t fix, but for the tiniest fraction of a second her hand had connected with the metal, there had been _sizzling._ Caleb hadn’t finished his dinner. Thankfully, Molly had been busy at the time.

“I don’t know.”

Nott, on the other hand, had been right there with him and she hadn’t taken any of his excuses. So he told her the tiniest, most general piece of the truth. He told her he had hurt someone before, with fire. That it had been horrible. That a repeat terrified him. She was smart. Caleb could tell she knew that wasn’t the whole story, but she had mercy on him. She didn’t ask for more.

She was now, of course, on Caleb’s mental list titled _People Who Are Too Good For Me But Want Me Around For Some Reason._

“The longer you put it off, the harder it will be, you know?”

“I know.”

“They would understand.”

Caleb sighed. “I also know that.” And then he went off. “But I keep thinking that I’ll have to explain my reasons and I’m not ready to talk about that. To anyone. Hell, I can barely even talk about it with myself, Nott. And I think they are basing this whole idea for the story of the act on the fact that there _could_ be fire and they’ve been talking with Gustav about it and the musicians and even with Ornna and I already let it go for so long and…” He turned towards his goblin friend, watching her unimpressed expression. “I don’t want to disappoint them.”

“You are kidding, right? Sometimes they look at you like you lit the sun yourself.” Caleb looked at her, completely unbelieving. She went on almost immediately. “Some other times they look at you like you’re an idiot, yes, but that doesn’t erase the _other_ look!” With a shrug, she plopped back, laying with her back flat on the cart. “It just makes it more honest.”

“I’m sure you are imagining things.”

“Bah.” Toya went to her, drawing yellow flowers and little birds around Nott’s head, completely unafraid of their goblin friend. Made sense, taking into account the frog-like features of the girl’s best friend. “What do you think of all that, Toya?”

She hummed, voice raspy and low, as always. “It’s silly, just tell Molly.”

“Well.” Caleb looked at them for a moment and then, unable to hold their gaze for much longer, turned towards the road where the group was walking. Molly locked eyes with him, tail shooting straight up in excitement and then lashing out, smacking the people around them. The wizard couldn’t help but let a small, low laugh at that. “I promise I’ll try.” He waved slightly at the tiefling, watching them taking a running start towards their cart. “I promise.”

* * *

Days had gone by and Caleb hadn’t said a thing to Mollymauk. They sat atop a hill at the end of the day, leaning on each other. A sea of green grass stretched before them in all directions as thick, dark clouds rolled in, tinted golden yellow by the sunset. Rain would catch up to them soon.

It would have been a great opportunity, Caleb thought, for many things. The views were beautiful, the sun warm and breeze fresh and crisp. They were together, close, and neither of them seemed like they wanted to move. Were he a romantic, Caleb would have made a move. It would have been awkward and terrible, probably, but it would have been theirs.

Instead, he sighed. _Not for you_ , he reminded himself.

Molly, on the other hand, knew nothing of his self-hatred, or perhaps they just didn’t care for it. Many times they had taken care of Caleb: by healing, by cleaning, by making sure he ate, despite the wizard’s insistence that they were losing their time. They took none of that, just like that moment, as they flopped on their side, scooting until they were able to rest their head on Caleb’s thigh, mindful of their jingling horns.

“Tell me something nice you remember,” they said, glancing up at him with bright ruby eyes. They did that a lot, and Caleb suspected it was all part of a grand plan to make him less _sad_. The request always came when he felt the most homesick, the most melancholic. Perhaps he ought to mind his sighing.

As he wracked his brain for a memory, a nice one, for Molly, he brought up a hand to brush their curls back. “Do you want to hear a story?” They nodded, almost purring against Caleb’s leg. “Alright.” He conjured one of his favorite memories, hazy and dusty, from long ago. He found himself around five years old, curled up in bed between his parents, tiny and thin. His father snored quietly behind him, as his mother hugged him close. He translated her words. “Once upon a time in a little house on the edge of a great wide wood lived a young boy with his mother.”

Caleb weaved the story of the sick little boy and the dapper cat for Molly, as he stared into the distance. He threw his voice, higher for the boy, flourishing for the prince of cats. Lighting was striking the earth, far from them. “ _The world of men is heavy and hard_ , the princely cat proclaimed. _But here, across the veil, we move with lighter step. Dance with us, child, and forget your troubles for a spell._ ”

Shadows of faraway others were surprisingly clear from where they sat. The outline of a farmstead, the ghosts of a lonely cart and overworked horses, a lone, tall figure, all far off, where the sea of grass ended. “ _Danke_ , he said, as he looked down at the hat in his hands. And placing it upon his head, he smiled, kicked up his heels, and quietly started to dance his way all the way back home.”

Caleb peered down to the tiefling in his lap as they gazed up at him, no longer interested in the view, smiling gently. They brought a hand up, placing it on Caleb’s cheek, warm and calloused. “That’s the nicest memory you’ve told me.” The wizard could only smile, surprised with himself when he leaned into their touch for a second.

“We should get back. That storm looks nasty.”

“Aye.” Caleb watched them gracefully pick themself up, jumping to their feet and then turning to offer a hand up to him. He took it, all hesitation gone for the moment, as they began walking back to camp, the shadows of strangers outlined by distant lightning.

* * *

The storm caught up to them the very next day, waking everyone in camp with a thunderclap that seemed too close for comfort. Everything was muddy and cold outside their tent, so Molly hadn’t wanted to get up, looping their tail around Caleb’s waist to stop him from getting up as well. Nott had crawled to them herself, wrapped in blankets and curling in the space behind Caleb’s legs, small head upon his calf.

“Someone is going to have to go get breakfast,” he told them, hiding his red face against Molly’s shoulder.

“Not you,” they answered in unison, as Molly cleared their throat to continue explaining.

“You’re like a furnace when you wake up.” They scooted more towards him, bumping a horn against Caleb’s temple, lightly. “Then you get cold during the day.”

“I am a bag of bones, how?”

They shrugged. “All that fire, I guess.”

He grimaced at that, curling tighter on himself, then pushing slightly. “Yes, well, I do want breakfast.” He went to stand, only for Molly to wind an arm over him as they muttered quietly.

“You don’t like being outside when it rains. You told me.” That stopped Caleb in his tracks to gaze down at the tiefling. He _had_ told them about that. About times he had been stuck out with no shelter, cold and soaking to the bone. So he sighed, feeling Nott lift her head to look at them. He plopped back down, letting Molly pull him closer as Nott climbed her way up to use his stomach as a pillow. With nothing else to do, Caleb snapped Frumpkin into existence atop his chest, purring loudly. 

“Fine,” he said, finally, closing his eyes, lulled to sleep once again.

When he woke up again it was still raining, but he was on his own, surrounded by pillows and covered in every single blanket they owned. Frumpkin meowed at him as he sat, finding a plate of bread slices on the corner of the mattress. A fond ache surrounded his heart as he stood up to get dressed, eating at the same time.

When he stepped out with hood up and kitty lounging around his neck like a warm scarf, he found Gustav, Desmond, Bo and Ornna discussing something intently in hushed whispers, huddled together under the hood of an open cart. He didn’t manage to step up to them, as Mollymauk reached him from behind, winding their arms together and guiding him towards the edge of camp.

“You know that game?” They snapped their fingers as they tried to remember. “Parchment, shears… stone?”

“Boulder, parchment, shears.”

A louder finger snap. “That’s the one!” And then a shrug, accompanied by a sheepish grin. “I lost. And that means you lost too, come on.”

Caleb sputtered, glaring at the tiefling a little harder. “What do you mean I lost too? What did we lose?” Molly simply laughed as they reached the edge of the camp and cocked their head to the side, pointing towards the field surrounding them.

Nearby, on a patch of wild flowers, sat a very tall, very broad woman, back towards them. Braided black hair that faded into white tumbled over her back, soaking wet and sticking to her to her arms. Even from where they stood, Caleb could tell she shivered. That, and also the gleaming of the broadsword on her back. “Apparently, she has been sitting there for a while. So, we are going to talk to her, see how she is doing.”

“Molly, she looks like she could snap me like a twig.”

They shrugged. “Well, she probably could do that to any of us, so. Eh.” They looked toward the woman as she sat on the floor and pet the flowers. Molly smiled at that, walking and pulling Caleb along. “We’ll manage.”

Caleb wasn’t so sure about that, if he was honest with himself, but there was no way he would throw Molly at her on their own, and so he did not put up a fight.

“Hello, friend!” they called to her, still multiple steps away. Mismatched eyes turned to look at them: tense, but not aggressive. She seemed to relax slightly after examining them, perhaps thinking something along the lines of _I could take them._ Molly did not hesitate after that, walking closer with Caleb at their heels. “Looks like you’ve been in the storm for a while. Need any help?”

“Oh…” She looked upwards, toward the clouds and the distant thunder, not minding the thick water droplets falling directly on her face. “I like it, actually.”

“Mm-hm…” Molly stared at her for a moment, at the slight shake of her shoulders. It wasn’t a cold day, middle of summer as they were, but the fresh breeze the storm brought combined with waterlogged clothes was never good. “And you aren’t cold?”

“A little, I suppose,” she told them, and then went back to petting her flowers, digits dancing lightly over the delicate petals. “I’m fine, really.”

“Hungry?” Caleb added. That sort of worked with Nott, hadn’t it?

“I’ll hunt something, thank you.”

Caleb could tell she wasn’t very interested in making connections. She wore a haunted look in her eyes that told him many things, none specific, but painfully familiar. She wasn’t alright, that much was obvious. And yet Molly smiled, speaking with interest. At least she didn’t seem aggressive.

“You like flowers?” the tiefling asked, pointing toward the wild blooms surrounding her. That piqued her interest for a conversation, at the very least.

“There are so many.”

“I have a couple friends over there that like flowers too. I mean, who doesn’t, right? But those two are fans.” Molly stepped closer to her, close enough to look at her and what she was doing. “Let’s see, what have you got there?” In her hands she held a long, forking stem, each forking branch holding a bluish purple flower of delicate petals, thin and soft looking. “Ah, a Larkspur, was it? Caleb, do you know?”

Hesitantly, Caleb stepped toward them, looking at the plants surrounding her. _“Ja._ You were looking at a book that had them, remember? With Toya.”

The tiefling lit up at that, snapping their fingers and nodding. “Yes, yes, you read it for me!” They turned towards the woman once again, her mismatched eyes wide with wonder as she stared at the flower.

“Larkspur,” she whispered, with reverence. Caleb couldn’t help but step closer, just a couple inches.

“Larskpurs mean strong love,” he found himself saying, memory crisp from that book and barely avoiding a flinch as she snapped her head towards him. Caleb cleared his throat to hide his reaction a little better. Despite her size, the muscles on her arms, or the terrifyingly sharp sword on her back, the way she held the plant betrayed a gentleness and a kindness he hadn’t seen in a long time. Tender but vicious. “An open heart.”

Molly, failing to contain their need to be the center of attention, cooed at his comment, placing a hand on her shoulder to catch her attention. They smiled at her, with a little too much fang, as usual. “I’m Mollymauk. That’s Caleb, over there. What’s your name?”

They both watched her hesitate. She looked from Molly to the flower, then to Caleb. Then to the carnival nearby soaked in rain, just as they were, but looking warm and inviting and smelling strongly of spices. They gave her time to think, to process. Caleb recognized the need for patience. He saw it in the the way she curled in on herself, ever so slightly. He heard it on the way she attempted to buy herself time by clearing her throat. Eventually, she looked toward Molly again, and gave them the tiniest hint of a smile.

“Yasha.”

* * *

The storm didn’t let up for a whole week.

They’d been stuck by the same field for days, and it didn’t look like it would let up for a few more. In all honesty, Caleb was slightly thankful for it. They were away from any substantial town, so no one was tempted to ride off into one. Supplies were nowhere near low, no one was sick, everyone had something to do. Nothing to hurry for.

Still, of course, Gustav and Desmond and Ornna looked toward the sky every morning with a grimace.

Yasha, they had come to find, enjoyed the storms. In a way they felt like home to her, from what they understood. She would stand out, soaking wet, and watch the thunder and lighting with intense focus, like someone trying to decipher a message. Eventually Molly would pull her out of it, asking her for help carrying dinner back to the tent. They would eat huddled together, Nott, Yasha, Molly, and Caleb, sitting on the edge of the bed, sharing from each others’ plates.

It was nice. More than nice.

Molly and Caleb still danced, cramped inside their shared tent as Nott watched them from above, lounging on the highest support beam. Yasha would watch as well, quiet in her corner, leafing through the book of flowers Molly had given her as a welcome gift. She had pressed a larkspur, along with tiny yellow buttercups and a small cluster of forget-me-nots.

“We ought to start practicing the rest of the act soon, Mister Caleb,” Molly said as Caleb extended his arm and spun them around twice, then pulled them back quickly, almost with a snap, only for the tiefling to switch and lead, tail wrapping around the wizard’s hip. It was a move they had agreed upon early on, placed right in the middle of their slowly developing routine. “You know. The fire part?”

Caleb turned his head to one side, taking his position as Molly placed their hand lower on his back, tail allowing for extra support as they dipped the wizard down, perhaps too low for a proper ballroom. Above them, Nott glanced down, nervous. She knew it was a delicate subject, something he had been skirting around for weeks. She lifted a hand, pointing to herself. A signal, an offer for help. Caleb didn’t take it.

Instead, he went along for a couple more moves. Up he went, and then a couple spins together, and then a simple box, stepping around each other. Finally, Caleb was turned around, back against Molly’s chest, their hand never released, as they stepped side to side, together. “Well, we haven’t even really added music yet.”

A hum answered him, and he knew that wasn’t a good enough answer.

For an awful moment, a terrible thought came into his mind, about disappointing Molly, about transactions. The tiefling had never, ever, put conditions on his position at the carnival. He had been told, repeatedly, by multiple people, that he didn’t have to participate in an act. He didn’t owe any of them results, they had said. And that extended to Mollymauk, didn’t it? But still, would existing truly be enough? Would he arrive one day to the tent to find separate beds? Would they eat away from each other? Would they, eventually, not share a tent at all?

Caleb’s chest hurt.

The sound of rain outside was deafening. He moved through the dance, through the spins, through the walks, through the boxes and squares, with only noise in his head. And then a light went off, an idea. He stopped, abruptly, barely catching Molly as they stumbled. “Rain,” he muttered.

Molly grumbled, righting themself. “Rain?”

Caleb nodded. “Do you mind getting getting wet?”

A smile came over the tiefling’s face, lighting their red-on-red eyes. “You know I don’t.” Nott jumped down, curious, just as Yasha carefully tucked her book inside her furred cloak.

 _“Gut.”_ Without another word, Caleb grabbed them by the hand and pulled them out of the tent, into the pouring rain and rumbling thunder and slick, muddy paths. They hurried together, with a curious Yasha full-on enjoying the downpour and a very disgruntled-looking Nott, covered completely by her cloak. By the time they reached ‘ _the ballroom,’_ they were soaking wet and it was perfect.

“Alright, alright, as much as I don’t mind getting wet…” Molly looked around, at the miserable-looking, muddy, sorry excuse of a ballroom. “What are we doing here?”

“Well, I didn’t want to burn one of your tapestries.” He called forth a spark, watching it be snuffed out almost immediately. Then he summoned a small ball of fire, which fought valiantly against the weather, but ultimately died as well. With a relieved sigh, Caleb nodded to himself. “Are you ready?”

Mollymauk’s tail swayed from side to side, snapping at the ground, smacking their own legs. Their smile was blinding as they bounded toward Caleb, hands reaching for him, for his head, grabbing him by the jaw and pulling him into a smacking forehead kiss. “Ready.” Despite knowing full well his face was redder than his own hair Caleb smiled back, taking position.

At first, he did nothing different, simply started their dance routine, same as usual, waiting for the right moment to let the sparks fly. Eventually, with each step, a fiery print was left in his wake. With each spin, a flurry of embers flew out of his coat, out of his hair. Each of his breaths brought a new spark to their movement, and yet, the rain allowed nothing to catch. A moment later, his globules of light plopped into existence and danced around them, following their glide around the muddy dance floor. Caleb was nervous and hesitant, so it wasn’t really his best work, but Molly still laughed, delighted, humming their imaginary, improvised tune as they dipped him, lower than ever. They stared at each other, smiling.

With a flash of arcane energy shining in his eyes, Caleb sent sparks all around them, like fireflies in the summer sky. Molly scrunched their nose, playful and impish, and dipped him even lower.

And then, of course, they slipped.

Caleb let out a yelp, as the mud under his feet gave, sending him plopping down, purple tiefling and all. Horns dug into his chest, bruising and sharp, but achieving no real damage. The mud was cold and uncomfortable, and Molly was heavy above him, cackling the whole while, and yet, Caleb was happy. Truly happy, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

As Molly lifted their head, face splattered with mud and hair plastered down onto their forehead, wet and limp, they had never been more beautiful, lavender, plum, and red-on-red blending into one as Caleb’s vision became fuzzy and soft from the rain. He brought a hand up, cupping their cheek.

“Menace.”

* * *

Perhaps it had been a mistake, showing Molly a glimpse of what he could do during their dance. Caleb had hoped for it to be placating, that maybe it would pull their attention towards the music part of the act, or finishing their routine. Something else. But it hadn’t.

Now, Molly could only speak about the fire. How wonderful those sparks that flew out of his coat were, how dramatic the blazing footprints had been, such good ideas. Wonderful ideas, they told Caleb, and all the wizard could do was nod quietly.

What was he going to do?

He had fucked it all up. Now he had to tell Mollymauk, _that thing I showed you and you loved? I’m never doing it again_. And how could the tiefling be anything but mad. Caleb didn’t dare say anything about it. But then, he thought, that was cruel. To let them play with ideas and dream and spread the knowledge, all pride and excitement. Caleb couldn’t do that to them. He couldn’t.

Taking a deep breath, he sat down next to the tiefling where they rested, leaning against Yasha. Nott scrambled up next to him, sensing his hesitance. Come what may, he was telling them. That he was sorry, but he was terrified of the fire. That he was sorry for getting their hopes up, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. That all he knew was hurting people, that he couldn’t risk it. That he was terrible and garbage and to _please_ forgive him.

He only hoped Molly wouldn’t turn him away.

“Molly, I…”

Caleb wasn’t able to get much else out, as a crash nearby interrupted him. Molly was on their feet at once, just as Nott jumped down from whatever beam she had been lounging on. The wizard was soon to follow, the three of them hurrying outside their tent. Just then, Ornna hurried past them, only stopping long enough to get a warning out. “Some guards came by!”

They didn’t need to know more to hurry after her, towards the edge of camp. The sound of breaking wood pushed them to run faster, as they caught the end of a conversation. Most members of the carnival stared, as Gustav attempted to parlay with a group or armed guards.

“And so, good sir, I’m afraid I must…” A man turned, armored and tall and familiar. Caleb didn’t need his perfect memory to remind him of blades against his throat and the smell of cherry wine. The commander from the town they had met Nott at stood before them, flanked by three armed guards, a man and a woman with sword unsheathed, and a bowman ready to strike. Their red traveling capes spoke of their lack of reservation and confidence. At their feet, ruined barrels and crates of supplies. They were in control here. The leader smiled, as he pointed towards them. “Ah! No need to search for the rats then, there we have them.”

With a simple whistle, once again a hunter commanding hounds, the couple with swords advanced toward them. “The devil and the pest. Red caster too.” He gave a smile, directly at Caleb, then turned towards Gustav. “I’m curious to see how well your wizard can cast with broken fingers, aren’t you?”

Everyone bristled at that. Yasha stepped between them and the guards, glaring at the two walking towards them. Molly and Nott both hissed. No one moved, only the bowman brought a hand up, ready to pull an arrow.

Gustav was the first to speak, noticeably tense, afraid even, but his voice held a noticeable side of anger ad he carefully enunciated. “I’m afraid, sir, that I will not allow you to barge in and take my family. You don’t mean anything this far away from your town.”

“Ah, is that so?” The leader made no move for what felt like a full hour, but Caleb knew was mere seconds. Seconds for all of them to take a low, panicked breath. Yasha kept her stance, in front of Molly and Nott and himself, covering them as much as possible, but made no move. Suddenly, a laugh ripped itself from the man’s throat as he made a quick, dismissive signal to the bowman beside him. “Shoot him.”

Quick as a whistle, an arrow was nocked and let loose. Gustav fell to his knees, clutching his side and grunting in pain as both Desmond and Bo went down with him, the half orc covering them as much as possible. The man kept on laughing, only to choke and cough on his own blood as hissed and spat words were launched at him. Beside Caleb, Mollymauk screamed in infernal, pulling out both his scimitars, furious and determined.

Everything went quickly after that. The ache in Caleb’s chest returned in full force.

The woman with the sword went faster than any of them could have guessed, going directly toward the group, lifting her weapon right as she reached the twins. Just then, an arrow to the thigh sent her tumbling down. Nott hurried out of her hiding spot and behind a nearby barrel, out of sight. When had she even moved?

Just then, Yasha screamed, voice full of rage, unsheathing her giant sword and hurrying forward, barreling towards the commander, rushing to hit, only for the other bladed guard to intervene, raising his own weapon to stop her. Molly used this exact moment to rush beside her, ducking low and beneath the blades to rush at the leader of the pack, only to be met with a blade as well. Turning on his heal, the leader unsheathed and stabbed forward in a single movement, right for the tiefling’s gut, Mollymauk barely managing to step to the side.

Caleb found himself all alone in the middle of a battle with people threatening the family he owed his life to, and he was terrified. With trembling hands he dug on his component pouch, bringing out he rough diamond Nott had let him keep and spinning it between his fingers. Frost and ice spears shot out with each turn of the jewel, striking the man on the arm, but missing anything vital. He barely even got a chance to curse, letting out a grunt of pain instead as the sword woman somehow managed to reach him and strike him.

Infernal reached his ears again as the woman’s eyes bled thick and dark and he stepped away, as far as he could given the chance.

Just then, a high, loud whistle called his attention. The leader pointed at Molly, as the bowman proceeded to aim, letting loose an arrow. Thankfully, it barely hit the tiefling, grazing their arm and ripping part of their coat.

Caleb turned just in time to watch the arrow ricochet off a nearby pot and right between Toya’s feet. The girl gasped, pale as a sheet as she was lifted into the protective arms of Kylre, hissing with fury. Cursing and shouting brought him back to attention. The leader was furious now. The bowman looked panicked, hurrying to pull an arrow, struggling to nock it into place, and aiming once again towards Molly.

Time moved slowly.

Molly wasn’t looking, low to the ground as they sprinted toward the swordsman who had managed to hit Caleb, scimitars out and ready to bleed him dry. Their coat had ripped were the arrow had grazed them. The pain in Caleb’s chest was becoming unbearable.

The bowman aimed, following the tiefling’s speed, and Caleb wasn’t going to let him try again. He lifted his hand, letting it blacken with soot, as fire traveled from deep inside, low on his belly, and rushing up, through his spine. Warm and curling it went, powerful and proud, towards his shoulder, down his arms, lava in his veins, and igniting at his fingertips.

A blaze, a true blaze, left his hand for the first time in a decade, and it felt like it had been waiting, tempting him all that year with helpful little sparks and embers. For a moment, he was warm, he was strong, and he was ready for anything. His aim was true, striking the man square on his side, sending him stumbling back, knocking his arrow uselessly to the ground.

Then he regretted it all.

Caleb knew the moment, the fraction of a second, he had gone too far. The flames ignited the guard’s proud, red cape and grew and grew, licked the outside of his armor, iron alive with heat, and snuck inside the metal carapace. His hair caught as well, long ponytail peeking from under his dented helmet, a blonde fuse. A hissing sizzle reached Caleb’s ears first, and then a scream. Then many screams, of panic and pain, of seething hatred, of overwhelming fear.

He watched the guard — the human, the person, the soldier, like his father — drop and roll, but it was no use. The fire was inside, there was no snuffing it now. He was cooking inside his own armor, betrayed by his own protection, and ignited more and more, blaze growing higher and higher.

The screams were a nightmare, an agony, hoarse and loud.

Someone called his name, a name that was made up, not his own, a lie. There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him, but it was too late.

The smell. It was familiar.

Burning flesh, singing hair, and boiling blood.

Bren fell to his knees and stared.

* * *

The thing about magical fire that people don’t realize until they come face to face with it is that it burns much hotter than any wood or coal could ever achieve. It’s the kind of hot that melts metal, that scorches the earth. Caleb had learned this since his very first use of a cantrip. The flames had come naturally to him, after all. Barely a thought was needed for fire to heed his call, like a deep-seeded instinct that had always been with him.

It had been a precious gift in his youth. A way to warm his home, to help his mother in the kitchen. Simple, beautiful tasks, made easier by the flick of his wrist, done out of love and nothing else.

Later, it had been a weapon. Righteous flames to protect himself. To protect his friends, his family, his home. The Empire. His flames belonged to the Empire, like everything else he had and was. They pulled out truths out of liars, demanded loyalty from traitors, and they always, always, achieved his goals. A job done out of pride.

Then, his fire had become a curse. Murderous and too hot, too volatile, impossible to snuff. The smell of burning flesh. Of charred hair. Boiling blood. It made him _gag_. The screams that come when you burn alive. It disgusted him, what he could do to a person, to a living thing, with a simple hand motion. A murder done out of hatred.

He had found himself at that point, yet again. In front of a burning corpse, on his knees, partially out of weakness and pain, but also to beg for forgiveness in a way. From whom? Gods would not listen to him, to _a thing_ like him. From the man he had murdered? Would that be right? He had watched him and his threaten his friends. Threaten little Toya. Threaten Mona and Yuli and Ornna. Threaten Molly. So why, _oh, why_ , did he feel so disgusting?

Because it was not his place, perhaps. He was no hero, using his abilities for good. He was a weapon, broken and abandoned and covered in blood. Innocent blood, guilty blood, there was no difference. Death was death.

And he knew, he _knew_ , this was always where he would end: in front of a reminder of his sins. It was all he was good for, and thinking of anything else he could do was foolish.

His internal clock was quiet, for once, as he stared into the fire, so hot it melted flesh, cracked bone. It could have been hours or seconds; it felt no different to him. He was lost either way. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, but he could not bring himself to look away. Who was it, anyway?

A rush of memories came over him. His home, burning with his too-hot fire, ashes flying up toward the sky. His mother weeping. His father pounding at the door, rattling the cart that trapped them in. _Traitors, liars, traitors_ , a man whispered in his ear, breath damp, voice crackling and frail, yet commanding. Bony fingers dug into his shoulder. He screamed then. Screamed and wept, pulling at his hair, scrambling toward his home.

 _Bren_ , someone has screamed panicked. First female, then male. Astrid. Wulf. Poison and blood. Strong arms had grabbed him by his middle, pulling him back as he screamed and screamed and screamed, throat raw, bloody.

 _Bren_ , the old voice had said. _Bren_ , it had commanded. _Pathetic_ , it sneered.

He struggled and screamed and cried, and the arms around him tightened, and he wanted to panic, to feel trapped, but something was different. These were slighter arms. Still strong, still stubborn, but not bruising. It didn’t hurt. And this person was pressed against his back. He could feel their chest against his back, so close the pounding of their heart was a clear rhythm. A cheek against the back of his head. He could hear snippets of something whispered in his ear, hurried like a chant.

“…leb, listen…. okay… safe…everyone… dear… here… promise… hurt… darling… Ca…. Caleb…. Caleb…”

A kiss was placed behind his ear.

With a gasping breath, he was quiet. He was on the ground, on his knees still, being held from behind. The fire was being snuffed with buckets of water, the body covered. Lavender arms surrounded him, a hand soothed his injured side, bloody, carefully. He felt the familiar feeling of horn bumping against his head, of a tail thumping against his side. A familiar voice spoke to him, soft, kind, lilting. “There we go, Caleb, it’s okay. We’re safe. Everyone is safe. No one is going to hurt us. Hurt you. I promise. I’m right here.”

He could hear his own breath, shallow and panicked and pained. He lifted his hands, stared at them, covered in soot, and watched as tiny green hands immediately covered them. He lifted his gaze, meeting big, worried yellow eyes and green skin. Nott. Over her shoulder he could see Kylre cradling Toya, shushing her as she cried. Desmond held Gustav up, walking him towards a nearby tent. Ornna, the twins, Bo, and even Yasha seemed to be handling the fire, the corpse. Bile rose up his throat as he went to stand, but neither Molly nor Nott let him even try. “I should… I can…” His voice was rough. Between the screaming and smoke, he had torn it to shreds, he knew.

“Shush,” Molly whispered, carding a hand through his hair, slowly swaying and rocking Caleb with them from side to side. They were so, so, close. Caleb could feel how warm they were, could feel their heart against his back, clearer that his own. Their tail had laid itself upon his lap, lazily thumping, _eins - zwei - drei, eins - zwei – drei._ Their waltz. “Shush, dear. It’s okay. You are okay.”

Closing his eyes, Caleb let the tiefling lull him. He concentrated on the sway, slow and gentle. Nott took that opportunity to climb into his lap, holding him tightly. Caleb held her back. After a whole minute like that, he felt himself curl forward, like he was trying to become small, smaller, the smallest, and Mollymauk moved with him, scooting to the side to continue holding him.

Caleb’s shoulders shook. He was crying again, this time silently, through closed eyelids. He let himself drift, like many times before, this time surrounded by friends.

* * *

The smell of herbs was overwhelming, and yet, completely welcomed. Familiar and soft.

Caleb was reminded of his first time waking up at the carnival, as he was once again in pain and covered in blankets up to his chin, only this time there was someone beside him. As he turned his head, slow and stiff, he was greeted, like many times before, by lavender and plum. Red-on-red eyes. Mollymauk Tealeaf laid next to him on their side and on top of the blanket, holding on to an old pillow for dear life, arms tense and tail wrapped around themself.

His chest hurt.

 _“Hallo,”_ was all Caleb could think of saying, voice thin and wet. He sniffled as he moved to rub his eyes. Molly said nothing for a moment until a sigh left their lips, before releasing the pillow and finally moving toward Caleb.

“You were crying in your sleep,” they muttered as they reached the wizard, fitting themself under the blankets, beside him.

“Bad dreams.”

“No shit.”

“What happened to the guards?”

“Ran away.” Caleb let himself be pulled into the tiefling’s arms, even as he shook his head no. A hand guided his head to rest over their shoulder, then combed through his loose hair with blunted, gentle claws. The other arm went around his middle and kept him close while their tail went for his thigh, winding round two full loops.

Eventually Caleb settled, both arms wrapped around Mollymauk’s middle. His chest hurt more and more.

Molly held onto him all through his tears and all through his venom. Through panic and pain. They did not let go. It hurt, not from the force, but from the knowledge that even through all that, through fear and rage, he was, in that moment, still wanted by that peacock of a person. Crazy, impish, ridiculous, beautiful, wonderful, incredible Mollymauk Tealeaf did not push him away.

It clicked in his mind then. The real reason for the pain in his chest, the hand squeezing his heart.

The realization made him tremble once more, and he was held even tighter. He shifted and hid his face on the crook of their neck, burying his nose against Molly’s clavicle. A hand came up to stroke his hair once again, soft and gentle as they brushed it back, and all he could do was sigh.

Gods.

He loved Mollymauk Tealeaf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha fight scenes. Dance. Dynamic movement. Banter. Woof.
> 
> Find me on tumblr as moonbonniewrites if you wanna talk.
> 
> Thank you for the read! Stay safe!


	5. Dusk and Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allow yourself some happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Last chapter, y'all. I can't believe it. We have an epilogue sort of thing after this, but still. Gosh. 
> 
> Thank you all for the love I got last chapter! And, thank you very much to Chai_Teafling for proofreading this.
> 
> Enjoy!

_834 P.D  
_ _Autumn_

They did not dance much anymore.

They had moved quickly, before sunrise, the morning after the attack. Exhausted, Caleb hadn’t even tried to help pack, most of the work already done either way. Instead, he had quietly moved through the rows of carts, Mollymauk close behind. Together, they had climbed _‘the attic’_ cart and settled together, leaning against each other, legs dangling over the edge. It rained lightly, still, so Caleb shed his coat and brought it up to cover them both. It wasn’t much but sharing their warmth in the freezing drizzle was grounding enough to keep him in the moment. To avoid the memories.

He hadn’t looked toward the fight zone. He hadn’t checked for any sight of the _burning._

“Caleb,” Mollymauk started, loping their tail around his middle, letting it drop easily over his hip. “Caleb, what happened to you?” Caleb closed his eyes, taking the deepest breath his shuddering lungs allowed, and trembled. Pausing, Molly removed their coat as well, draping it around both their shoulders, as best they could. The recently-added blue lining was velvety soft against his skin. “Will you tell me? When you’re ready?”

He could do nothing but nod, though he wasn’t sure if he was lying or not.

“I’ll be right here, when you are. And while you aren’t,” they told him, as they brought an arm up and around his shoulders, pulling him close, forehead against his temple.

Guilt dripped into Caleb’s gut, and began to pool.

And so, they gave each other space. Molly would go into towns, Yasha protectively in tow, to promote their shows. Caleb would stay in camp, Nott always nearby, as he helped with route planning and logistics. Sometimes, and only sometimes, when they were on the road and no settlement was nearby, Mollymauk would find him before dinner time and pull him aside by the hand, fingers interlocked. They would waltz then, less flourishing and slow, their turns and spins gentle, more sways than anything. Less a show, more an excuse to hold each other close.

Molly never asked to see the sparks again.

The constant absence only made the utterly _obvious_ fact that he was in love all the more frustrating. How had he not noticed it happening? How had he not seen it coming and squashed the feeling in its crib? It felt too late for that already. The mere thought of completely severing himself from Molly made him almost spiral down into a panic. He thought of drunk men calling _‘damn devil’_ and angry armored guards, swords glinting in the moonlight. He had to stay.

Then thought of red-hot metal and the loud crack of a bone snapping in a blaze. Of the sizzle of flesh and echoing screams of a stranger. He should go.

After that, he would think of nothing at all.

Thankfully, with the night came relief. All four of them still shared a tent. Changes had been made to accommodate everyone, of course. Nott had a secluded corner to herself, hidden away by hanging tapestries and nestled on blankets and a thick, brown fur the twins had gifted her. Yasha, who insisted resting on the floor felt like home to her, slept on a roll every night, near the entrance. Her sword stood nearby, always within reach, and everyone knew to knock before bursting into their space.

Molly and Caleb still shared a bed. They were more shameless about their sleeping arrangements, perhaps starved of each other’s company and seeking relief. They did not wait for the other two to fall asleep. Caleb didn’t wait for a prompt either. He knew, at the very least, that the moment he scooted toward them under the blankets, Molly would open their arms to surround him. He slept every night tucked under their chin, with arms squeezing his waist and a tail around his thigh.

The one important difference was that Caleb squeezed back. He would loop an arm over their middle. Sometimes his fingers would find a scar and he would trace it gently while he lulled himself to sleep. Molly didn’t mind, if the kisses atop Caleb’s head were anything to go by.

Relief washed over him, every single time. They were not mad. They were not disappointed in him. Or tired of him. He was still wanted. And yet, guilt continued to gather, heavy and cold in Caleb’s gut, each day he did not explain himself to the tiefling.

But they never asked again.

It made sense. Mollymauk had no past, not really, so why would they ask about Caleb’s? Still, he felt — he _knew —_ that the truth stuck in his throat was pushing them away. It was pulling Caleb under, like rocks in his pockets, and all he had to do was reach in and let them go. All he had to do was ask for help. If he wanted this _thing_ he had been building with Molly, whom he owed his life to, who was so kind and gentle and patient with him, who was beautiful and left everything better than they found it despite being a little shit about it, whom he _loved_ , to not crumble, he had to speak.

And he was terrified.

* * *

They went on like that for a while. Living their lives in the same place yet apart, together but separated, only truly joining each other during meals and at night. Caleb was starting to think that perhaps things could work as they were. No danger of burning anyone, no showing himself in front of a crowd. And then he would look at Molly, sitting on a log, sneaking an extra piece of bread onto _Caleb’s_ plate. Their tail would perk up at the sight of him and _that smile._ It was killing him.

But he never did anything about it. Not for days. Not for weeks. Couldn’t bring himself to, couldn’t even think about it.

Until one night something different happened.

Caleb was awoken by a harsh pressure around his waist, to the point it punched a groan out of him. Lifting his head, he could see Mollymauk was wide awake, staring intently at the tent wall behind him, red-on-red eyes reflecting what little light surrounded them. It felt like such an intense gaze Caleb almost feared someone had snuck in. Lifting his head to look, he noticed Yasha, near the entrance of their space, sitting up and utterly aware. The relief that washed over him was almost overwhelming. She would be up, sword in hand, in less than a second if anything dangerous lurked around them.

Slowly, he lifted his hand, signaling at her he could handle it. He thought he could handle it, at least. Nodding, she lay back down, quietly.

With that fear out of the way, the wizard concentrated on Molly, laying back down. He spoke softly, pushing at their chin with his head, attempting to catch their attention. The strong hold around his waist became a death grip. “Alright?” A nod. “Are you sure?” Another nod. “You are crushing me.”

“Sorry,” they muttered, relaxing their hold enough for Caleb to scoot up, faces only a couple of inches away from each other.

“That is fine. But—” He brought his hand up, knuckles brushing against Molly’s cheekbone. “I kind of don’t believe you.” They did not answer him, only hummed and nuzzled against his hand, as Caleb let it rest against their cheek. He couldn’t see much in the low light, but the tautness of their body, the strain of their voice, it was enough for Caleb to get a good idea of what had happened, familiar situation and all. “Bad dream?” A barely-there nod against his hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Silence fell over them. Crickets outside, the rustling of cloth from Nott’s corner, the wind scraping fallen leaves against the ground. He was aware of the hypocrisy of his question. He revealed nothing, so why should they? “Not really,” they said, finally. “Not much to say. Lots’a dirt.”

That was more than enough information. “Ah.”

“Aye.” They leaned forward, slowly, and pressed their forehead against Caleb’s, eyes finally closing, releasing a fluttering sigh. “Tell me something you remember.”

He wracked his brain, as he always did for that request, for something appropriate, for a similar situation, perhaps. But they were so close, sharing a breath, and Caleb felt, for once, that he could not think of the past. He didn’t want to be lost in a memory. He wanted to be present in this new one, holding each other, noses bumping, legs tangled together, warm, so warm. Furthermore, he realized, the request was not for his benefit. It wasn’t grounding him. It was for Molly’s sanity, for their comfort. So, he sang instead, an old Zemnian song he knew almost instinctively, about a fool in love with a fae queen.

He wasn’t very good, surely. His voice was breathy and cracked. He worried too much about someone else hearing him, Nott or Yasha or, hells, someone outside, to reach a decent high note. But he went on, and the outline that was Mollymauk’s lips curled up. He thought he saw their ear twitch, and their foreheads never separated. He made an effort, a deliberate one, to memorize every single detail of this moment together. Of the soft touches, of the lavender and lemongrass scent, of the tail squeezing his thigh just a hair tighter.

Then, soft as a dream, lips brushed against his own, barely. Not a real kiss, but perhaps the promise of one. They shivered in unison, as Molly chuckled, and moved themself lower, mindful of their horns as they curled next to Caleb, forehead against the wizard’s bony shoulder.

“Menace,” he whispered, leaning his head to the side, resting his cheek against the crown of their head, a horn brushing painlessly against the tip of his nose.

“Takes one to know one,” they answered as they fell asleep once again, safe and content and far away from a shallow grave. Caleb’s last thought, before dreamless sleep took him, was that they would talk.

They had to talk.

* * *

He thought about it. Thought about it hard. He planned for days when to spring it on the tiefling, and how, but nothing seemed right. During a trip would be awkward, with nowhere to escape. He would ruin dinner with his story about literal burning bodies and blood and… no. At night, while they laid in bed? That felt too sacred to ruin with his grief and his sins. He wanted the memories of that time to remain unmarred.

He thought and thought and thought, and it ate him alive. He thought until there was nothing inside him for the beast that was his anxiety to eat, hoping it would starve. Instead, it became ravenous and he, in turn, became numb. So numb that he didn’t get hungry, he didn’t get tired. Dinner was a chore he followed through with, simply to avoid the worried glances around him from looking too closely. Sleep came late and fitful, only made better by gentle rocking beside him.

 _This is it_ , he told himself.

One night, when the sky was clear, he walked through camp, to the very edge, where they would have set up the dance floor in simpler times. He sat on a wooden crate, looked at the constellations above, and waited.

The sky was clear. Not a cloud in sight. Just like Molly liked it.

It was quiet, not even crickets sang that night, so when soft, familiar jingling reached his ears, Caleb knew it was his time. Mollymauk approached him and, in complete silence, sat beside him. They knew as well.

“I need to tell you something.”

“Yes, I know,” they said, glancing up at the moon, which was half-way to full. “I figured it was hard. So, I gave you time.” They didn’t reach out, as they usually did when they sat by each other’s sides, but simply leaned back. “Is it about what happened to you? With the fire?”

 _“Ja._ And about much more.” With a deep breath, Caleb tried to calm his nerves. “Molly, this is going to be…” It didn’t work. He wanted to choke on his own words, he wanted to shrivel up and die. Still, he went on. For Molly, he had to get it out. For Molly. Because they deserved to know. They deserved an informed choice. “This is going to be very hard for me. Very, very hard. And I fear that if I stop at any point, I will not be able to go on. So, I’m asking you to wait.” He looked toward them, finally, and the red-on-red eyes he had come to like so much glanced right back. “Wait until I’m done, be patient with me, one more time. Please.”

“Of course I’ll wait. I promise, Caleb.”

 _“Danke,”_ he muttered, and took a big, deep breath. Everything inside him was screaming at him not to say it. Not to reveal this disgusting part of himself. They thought he was good, probably. They knew he had deep issues, of course, but Caleb couldn’t imagine that anything Mollymauk came up with would compare. Nothing ever could. He wished, for one last time, that he didn’t love them as much as he did. If he loved them a little less, then perhaps lying would be acceptable.

But he did love them. He loved them the most. And so, he leapt.

“I’m going to tell you the story of how I murdered my parents.”

He didn’t dare look at them, from that point on. His vision went straight to the ground, to the little flowers that grew near the edge of the forest, white and soft. Queen Anne’s lace.

“My name is… was…” The first lie he had told them. “Is. Bren Aldric Ermendrud. I am from a small town near Rexxentrum called Blumenthal. My mother’s name was Una. My father’s name was Leofric.” A sad smile crept up his lips. “We had a cat.”

“When I was a child, everyone was very excited about me. I was bright and confident. Intelligent. Everything just fell into place for me. The right place, the right time, always.” He thought of his childhood, of the first arcane symbol he had seen, old and worn in a tenth-hand book. He pictured himself poring over it, pronouncing arcane words he did not understand, interpreting the correct hand motion to cast. He thought of the first spark that came from his fingertips. Of his mother’s surprised gasp. “As I grew older, it became evident I had a knack for the arcane and people started asking my parents about school. The Soltryce Academy, I learned, was the most wonderful place in Exandria. It had books and magic and people that were just as excited about those two things as me. If not more. _More_. It sounded like a dream. And, as always, things fell into place for me. For me and two others. Another boy and a girl.

“So, we went there. For a year, I studied, and I worked so, so hard. And I loved it. And I was doing… I was doing well. The three of us were very accomplished. So much in fact, that we were noticed by a man named Trent Ikithon.” He paused, took a shuddering breath, shallow and wet, at the memories of a wrinkled face and an empty smile, singing false praise and whispering lies into his ear. “He became our teacher.”

Caleb’s vision was blurry with tears he did not let fall. Molly squeezed his hand, as he took one deep breath, and then another, shakily forcing his lungs to work. It, the whole thing, was still an open wound, festering and raw and he was now pouring salt directly into it. It would never close. “We left with him. Special training, he said. Only for the best. For the good of our home, for the Empire. We would learn to protect it and those within it. It was important. _We_ were important.” A sniffle. “It was good. And then it was not.”

“He was strict. And then harsh. And then cruel.” Caleb went for his sleeves, rolling them up, slow and methodical. “He hurt us a lot.” Next went his bandages, kept clean by Molly and Nott. Soon, pale, old scars were on full display. It was not the first look Molly had gotten of them, he knew, but the context made them more pronounced, more awful. “But it was important. It made us strong, and so, we rose through the ranks, until we came to a point where he wanted to…” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. He had arrived at the point of no return. His breath came out ragged and harsh. He was on the edge of a cliff called panic. “To test our loyalty.”

Mollymauk didn’t make a sound, as they had promised, but the familiar feeling of a tail reaching around Caleb’s middle grounded him enough to go on. “He brought people to us. Traitors. And we killed them. They burned. I burned them. And it was important.” Disgust filled his head. Disgust at himself, because there had been many red flags before that point, and the first killing of a _‘traitor’_ should have been the brightest, most obvious one. And yet, he hadn’t stopped. For months to come. Countless lives. “We made it to graduation.”

“We went home to tell our parents the good news.” The memories of their ride home flooded back to him. The excitement, the pride. Hushed conversation with his childhood friends — lovers by that point. His own home had been the farthest, and so he had arrived alone, swept up in his father’s arms, drowned in excited kisses by his mother. “They were so happy for me, my mother and father. So proud. It made me…” He scratched at his scars, lightly. Then shook his head. No. “That night I woke up and heard them talking. Hushed, angry whispers.” He pictured himself, a boy of sixteen, pressing himself flat against the wall of his bedroom, listening intently, anger a burning ember in his chest. “They spoke of revolution. Of treason. And I was furious at them. I was ashamed to be their son.”

“We went back to school. My friends had heard similar things from their parents, and we all… we felt betrayed. We were angry and hot with shame.” He wasn’t able to stop the tears from that point on, as they fell scalding across his cheeks. “We were summoned by Ikithon, and one by one, we spoke. He was very proud of us.” The tail holding him by the waist tightened and pulled. He had no strength in him to fight, so he found himself leaning against Molly’s side. He rubbed at his eyes harshly. “We went back home.”

“We stopped to the boy’s home first, Eadwulf, and he killed his parents with his bare hands. Then we went to the girl’s house, Astrid, and we had a wonderful dinner. She poisoned them.” This was it. He couldn’t see anymore, eyes too hazy from the tears that would not stop. “Then we went to my home, in the dead of night, and grabbed a horse cart and blocked the door. And I set it on fire.”

“They screamed. I watched my home burn and I heard them scream and pound at the door. Astrid and Wulf were there watching with me. Ikithon was there.” His breathing became labored, as he pictured the scene, crystal clear, in front of him. “I can still feel his fingers digging into my neck. He was so proud, but they wouldn’t stop screaming and I…” He felt himself choking, drowning, and yet, he forced himself to finish. “I broke.” He tapped at his temple with two of his fingers, three times. “Here.”

He wanted to curl up and die. He wanted to run, to hide. He wanted to turn back time, to before he had started speaking, to before the burning, to before the training, to before the magic, to before he was born. How could he have been so stupid? To tell Mollymauk all about his sins, to show himself to them like this? Why couldn’t he lie a little longer? Because it wasn’t fair to them. His heart clenched with each truth he had spit out, because he was pretty damn sure that Molly loved him too. At the very least, they cared a hell of a lot about him. And how could he allow that, the last thing he deserved, from the most wonderful person he knew? He felt his heart breaking, all over again, into a million too-sharp pieces. “I was so sure, Molly. So sure. Until I wasn’t.”

A sobbed escaped his throat then, and he had to stop. He could not go on, try as he might to get air in his lungs. Molly broke their promise then, partially, for they did not wait. There were no words, that remained true, but Caleb was pulled and enveloped in their arms. He did not reciprocate, couldn’t bring himself to accept the kindness, but he did hide his eyes, right at the crook of the tiefling’s neck, and shook, so hard he thought he might unravel.

He did not leave Mollymauk’s arms, too afraid it would be the last time. It took him several minutes to continue, and their hold never faltered. It wasn’t right. “I spent a decade in an asylum. I’m not sure how I got there,” he said, attempting to clear his throat as he went. “A woman was there, another patient. She put hands on me.” Lifting a shaking hand, he placed his fingers on Molly’s temple, right where the horns grew out of their skull. “Like this. She took the clouds away. All of it. The fake memories as well.” In that instant, he felt himself being squeezed, impossibly close as the tiefling tensed.

“They weren’t even traitors, Molly. Ikithon put those memories there.” He took the chance, the closeness, to turn his head, resting his temple on Molly’s shoulder, looking toward their neck. They were so, so close, he could feel his eyelashes brushing against their lavender skin each time he closed his eyes. “And if they weren’t traitors, what about all the others? All the others I burned?” He pressed more firmly against them, for a last second, wanting nothing more than to stay there forever, but forced himself to move soon enough, to pull away. “Not that it matters who they were. Someone, no one. Innocent, guilty. Blood is blood. And death is death.”

Caleb separated enough to look Molly in the eye, for the fist time since he had started talking. Their ruby eyes were hard to read, always, but through their months together, the wizard had learned their subtleties. At that moment, there was a mix on anger, a pinch of confusion, and a great deal of sadness. “I am a disgusting person,” he told them. “I am not a person. I am a thing. I am trash. I am nothing. And I deserve nothing.” _This is it_ , he thought. _This is it_. “I thought you should know.”

 _This is it_.

Mollymauk would stew over his words and they would realize what Caleb was, _what he wasn’t_ , and that would be it. No more shared bed, no more shared tent, no more shared food. No dances, no holding each other. He ought to leave. No friends. No family. No love. As it should be. It would destroy him, tear him to pieces, but he would survive. Somehow he would, as he always did, and he would go back to drifting. Alley to alley, gutter to gutter.

“Are you… Can I talk now?” they asked.

 _This is it_. He nodded.

The arms still around him loosened. Caleb felt himself grow cold, until hands went up to his shoulder and held him at arm’s length from the tiefling, who looked at him with nothing but conviction. It startled him into silence. This was not what he had expected. Red eyes stared at him, determined and burning. “Listen to me.” He nodded, quickly. Anything, anything Molly asked. “I know… I know you blame yourself. But Caleb you were…” They dug their fingers into his shoulder, face breaking with grief, for a split second. They spoke softly after that. “Caleb, you were a child. You didn’t…”

“I knew exactly what I was doing,” he answered. “I knew, Molly, don’t excuse my…”

“I’m not excusing shit.” Determination filled their eyes again, blazing hot, and Caleb couldn’t help but flinch, trapped in their hold and their gaze. For a moment, he was afraid, and this did not go unnoticed. Mollymauk released his shoulder and softly went to cup his face instead, thumbs brushing over his stubble, grazing his lower lip. “What you did was horrible. Terrible. Ugly. I agree on that.” They were gentle with him even then, and Caleb did not understand. “But I do not agree it was your choice. Not really. Yes, you cast the flames. No, maybe he didn’t have to make you do it, but…” Caleb’s heart went faster and faster. This was wrong. “But you were in so deep at that point, that your choices were his. For him. You were…” They scrunched their nose. “Groomed? Is that the word?”

“Molly, those were my—”

“And either way,” they went on, interrupting him. One of the hands holding his jaw crept up, softly caressing his cheek, his temple, the dark circles under his eye from lack of sleep. “Caleb, dear, I’ve seen you do so many good things. I’ve seen you feeding stray cats, straight from your own plate. I’ve seen you waltzing with Toya. You risked your freedom for Nott. You fought for us, at the cost of your own sanity.” Molly leaned forward, and Caleb felt himself freeze. It was a familiar position, foreheads pressed together, sharing their space intimately. “You’re patient and smart. Wickedly fast with your words. You’re fun. A little shit when you want to be. And you know what?” They nuzzled against his forehead, the baubles on their horns chiming gently as their noses brushed together. “You, Caleb Widogast, can be good. You haven’t even noticed you’ve been trying, have you, darling? That you’re trying to be better? So, so hard you try…”

Caleb let himself cry then, openly, ugly. “Molly, I don’t…” he sobbed, as they stayed together, breathing the same air, existing in the same space, impossibly close. “I haven’t…”

“You are making things better, Caleb,” they whispered. “You are succeeding. The carnival is better. I am better. Because of you. And isn’t that enough?”

The words bounced around his head, loud and clear.

Too loud. Too clear.

Better. Succeeding. Enough.

No. _Nein._

The words bounced around his head, painfully, and then drowned in his memories. He thought of screams, he thought of ash. He thought of a man, a stranger, cooking inside a metal prison, at his feet. He thought of his friends, having to deal with it for him. No. It was not enough. It would never be enough.

As much as it pained him, as much as he didn’t want to, he ripped himself away from Mollymauk’s hold. He rose to his feet and stepped back, back several steps, almost tumbling in his hurry. His hands flew to his eyes as he sobbed, for a full minute and thirteen seconds, lungs struggling against the choking wetness in his throat.

It was too much, and it was wrong. It was wrong for him to get any of what was being offered by Molly. Redemption. Forgiveness. Love. He had earned none of it.

With one last look at the tiefling, whose eyes were wide with worry, arms outstretched hesitantly toward him, Caleb Widogast ran.

* * *

He didn’t get very far, bursting into the forest, finding his way through the tall, thin trees. Fallen red leaves crunched and broke under his feet and bushes were irreparably damaged as he broke through them in his desperation. Still, his panic didn’t allow him to go for long, breath shallow and vision blurry.

Caleb sat upon the ground and tried to breathe through his terror. His thoughts were too fast for the amount of oxygen he could pull into his lungs. He had to go, he should have gone farther, should have gone since that night he sat awake beside Molly all those months ago and now it was too late.

_What had he done?_

It was too late, and he couldn’t breathe but the memories did not stop, would not stop — should they stop? — and the clock inside his head kept tick-tocking away and the minute changed just then 8:37 to 8:38 and nine seconds ten seconds eleven seconds and the compass needle spun and spun and spun and stopped and screamed north east, Caleb, you are facing north east, Bren, and flashes of the maps he checked with Gustav filled his inner eye mountains and forests and lakes and north east, Bren, north east, Caleb, if you walk now if you start now if you get running now by sunrise you will be in a town and no one will find you because you will get dirty again you will be disgusting again and no one looks at homeless friendless hopeless dirty men and that _is what you are_ the voice in his head changed, sneering and low and frail and commanding it whispered in his ear _pathetic, sniveling brat, be ashamed of yourself, weak, useless…_

A hand came to rest on his shoulder. Everything stopped. Then someone familiar, warm and soft came behind him and held him. Back against their chest, arms around his middle, cheek resting around the back of his head. A horn dug into his hair and charms clinked next to his ear. A tail thumped in threes against his thigh. Mollymauk held him close. They had been like this before, that night, kneeling before a burning stranger, amongst the stench of death and smoke. “Was that too much?” they whispered into his ear. “I said the wrong thing, didn’t I?”

Caleb’s heart cracked, a hairline fissure right down the middle, but hadn’t it broken already? What was there left to break? “No,” Caleb answered, too quick. “It’s me. It is me, I am the problem.”

A kiss pressed behind his ear. “Don’t call yourself a problem.” Their horn bumped against the crown of Caleb’s head and scratched gently. There were a couple tugs on his hair from the pendants catching but he couldn’t bring himself to mind. Not with Molly holding him so close, not when they were planting kisses on his hair and whispering reassurances directly into his stubborn brain. “Don’t call yourself trash, don’t call yourself disgusting.” A faint, delicate laugh escaped their lips along with an attempt at humor. “Yes, I found a dried bug in your hair once, but that’s beside the point.”

“It wasn’t that bad…” he mumbled, defensively.

“Caleb,” they said through a huff, as their hand went to brush his hair carefully away from his face. “It was dried, that means it was there for weeks.” Despite what they were saying, despite the scrunched-up nose Caleb didn’t have to see to know they were sporting, they leaned a little harder on him, pushing the wizard forward slightly. “I want to keep doing that, you know?”

“Washing my hair?”

“No,” they said, frown in their voice, then quickly reconsidered. “Well, actually, yes, but that’s not… Shut up.” Mollymauk leaned back, creating the slightest space between them. Caleb barely got to miss them, as a hand came to rest on his cheek, pushing gently until he turned his head enough to look into their red-on-red eyes. “I want to keep caring for you. And have you caring for me. Sharing everything. I miss you. I miss dancing.” They were serious, it was obvious. They were sincere and, maybe, slightly desperate. “We don’t need the fire thing, we don’t even need to do it for the show, I just want to keep spinning around with you. I want to keep having an excuse to be close.”

Before he could even think about it, his own hand shot up, to hold Molly’s own against his cheek. “You’ve never needed an excuse, Molly.”

“Then stay,” they said. “Please stay.” This time it was them who broke eye contact, ducking their head to push at Caleb’s, at his chin, until they were able to tuck themself underneath it, free hand grasping at his coat. “I know you’re scared, but…”

At that moment, the distinctive sound of sharp metal breaking wood reached their ears. In a second, they had both shot up. Caleb wobbled, still too tender and exhausted from opening up his chest for Molly to inspect, but the familiar warm glow of a too big fire in the direction they come from got him moving. A faint whiff of curling smoke, the black kind, reached his nose. “The camp,” was all he said, as he ran as fast as he could back to his friends, Molly catching up with him easily, keeping close.

Once they burst through the trees the smoke and heat became ten times more obvious. They did not stop, hurrying past the rows of tents and into the center area, where their communal bonfire should be. It was pure chaos. Fire was all around them, catching on tents, igniting on the old wood of a cart. The horses screamed and neighed and kicked in fright, as Bo struggled to free them. The twins ran, carrying water buckets from one side to the other. At the center of it all, familiar red capes caught their attention.

Yasha was there with them, bellowing in rage as she brought her sword down, hard against the familiar swordsman. The clanking and scraping of metal against metal as he struggled to block her swing made Caleb’s ears ring, terror rising up his throat like bile. He smelled no burning flesh, not yet, but the situation was familiar enough. His home was burning down, before his eyes.

A purple blur crossed his vision, as Mollymauk ran, scimitars out, toward the female guard as she struggled to ignite a flint and stone against a bundle of hay. The tiefling barreled into her, swords flying and turning and digging into her side, punching a scream out of her.

“Well,” a dreadfully familiar voice called, too close by for comfort. “If it isn’t that devil and the filthy caster!” From behind a tent the leader made his appearance, walking full of confidence, sword out and nearly dragging on the ground. A sneer adorned his face as he stared directly at Caleb. “You’ve caused too much trouble, haven’t you, red?”

Sneaking a hand into his components, Caleb lifted a honey covered finger, smearing it onto his lips. Arcane echoes followed his voice as he pushed his magic to reach the man. “I am sure we can talk, friend. No need for making such a fuss, don’t you think?”

A glazed look came over him, for a single second. Then one full of fury, as they lifted their sword at him. “Trying your dirty tricks on me, are you?” Caleb had fucked up, he knew. He hadn’t done it well enough, hadn’t stuck the right chord and he was going to pay for it. He took a step back, then another, despite being well aware of the limited space he had. Whoever had come up with that phrase about a sword and a hard wall must have known real fear. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy breaking your fingers one by one,” the man said, smiling wide and terrible. Molly screamed his name from somewhere to Caleb’s left, followed closely by the clanging of swords. “I’m going to also cut your tongue before I hang you…” A groan of pain interrupted the man, as a bolt dug itself on his side, directly between his ribs.

“Caleb!” a shrill voice called to him. Nott the Brave stood atop a stack of barrels, brandishing her crossbow, all righteous anger and defiance. Caleb wasn’t about to question where she had even come from. He scrambled away from the man, all too aware of his fury and the way they brought down his sword, attempting a hit on him. Right then, another bolt came, striking him right in the armpit, buying the wizard enough time to put some distance between them.

He was going to get her all the buttons she wanted. Always.

From behind her, the swordswoman, having escaped Mollymauk’s range, swiped her sword, attempting to cut at Nott’s legs. Too quick, and way too agile for Caleb to even believe, the goblin dove to the side, jumping down and rolling away and into gods knew where. Another scream of rage made him turn, just in time to watch Yasha cut deep into her adversary’s shoulder, the man dropping and scrambling back, terrified.

They could do this, he realized, as he scanned the battlefield. The fire was being controlled. One of their enemies was in bad shaped, the leader injured. Nott had a vantage point, Yasha was at her strongest, angriest. Molly…

Where was Molly?

A scream of frustration called his attention and Caleb, for the fifth time in the last couple minutes, felt way too slow to keep up. Molly ran past him, dodging the woman’s steel, as they went directly at the leader who, yet again, had his eyes set on the wizards. With a natural flourish, the tiefling stepped in between them, bringing his blades down, attempting to cut at the man’s clavicle only for him to step back in the nick of time.

That was enough for everything to go to shit.

With a shout, the commander hit Molly with the hilt of his sword, beside his left horn. Then, with a groan, they pushed, one of his feet tangling with the tiefling and bring him down with single strong punch to the chest. Caleb screamed as the man stepped over Molly, armor-clad foot stepping directly onto their throat, pressing and cutting all air supply. He turned, smiling directly at Caleb.

“Eye for an eye, you filth,” he said, ugly smile plastered on his face as he pressed his foot harder against Molly’s windpipe. The tiefling scrambled, tail lashing wildly against the ground as the man raised his sword high above his head, ready for a final strike.

He had to protect Molly. Caleb could think of nothing else. A scream ripped itself from his throat, a string of Zemnian curses Nott would have been proud of, and his arm shot up, fingers snapping and blackening as they ignited. The fire that flew from his fingertips wasn’t like the one from that night. It was angry, furious, yes, but it was controlled. An extension of his own arm rather than a wild thing he had let fly in a panic.

The bolt hit its target, square on the chest, making the man lose his balance. As soon as the foot on Mollymauk’s throat was lifted, the tiefling was rolling away and standing with a jump, scimitars out and ready to strike. Like a viper, in a single, swift movement one of their blades pulled back and then stabbed forward, impossibly fast and hard, plunging right into the man’s throat.

Everything stopped as blood gurgled out of the leader’s mouth. His lackeys stared dead-eyed as Molly’s blade retreated, and blood shot out the wound, splattering their face. With a terrible gurgle, the man was down. The other two did not stay much longer. A glare from Yasha and the sound of Nott’s crossbow being charged was all it took to have them running off into the woods.

Caleb could barely think before he was running forward, almost crashing into the tiefling. He took their face in his hand, cupping their jaw, looking at everything, turning him this way and that and then up, staring at the building bruise over their throat, pushing their hair out of the way to check the wound on their temple. He didn’t even realize he was speaking, fast and panicked and in Zemnian until a hand on his cheek stopped him. Red-on-red eyes found his gaze. “Are you okay?” he asked, finally in Common. His hands shook, his knees wobbled. “Does it hurt? Are you…?” A laugh, warm and familiar brought him out of his stupor. Molly chuckled, placing their hands over Caleb’s as they pressed their foreheads together. “It is really not the time to laugh, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

“Do you know what you just did?”

“What?”

“You saved my life,” they said, smiling wide and proud, turning their head enough that a turn bumped lightly over his temple. “With fire. You saved my life with fire.”

“Ah.” Words escaped him for a moment. Had he done that? He couldn’t smell anything too terrible, not even singed hair, really, but he _had_ used his flames. They had built inside him and climbed up his spine, just like before, like they always did. They had warmed him inside and out, in an instant, and they had come alive from his fingertips, and he hadn’t hurt anyone he loved. His friends were fine. He had done _something._ Good? He couldn’t use that word for anything he did, but perhaps _not bad_. And that was better than anything he had achieved in a long time. A little spark ignited in his mind, not fire, but light. A tiny, fragile ember of hope. His mouth felt too dry when he spoke next. “I just… that doesn’t change…”

“You don’t have to be convinced of it meaning anything, Caleb. But it can be done, right? It can be done. It can do good, not just…” They made it a point to look around, at the corpse of the commander, especially, baring their fangs at what was left of the man. After a moment, they went back to Caleb, fingertips grazing at his cheekbone, soothing, as they stayed so close their noses were touching “I just hope…” they started. “I hope you’re convinced enough to stay?”

It was breaking his heart, still, to see them so unsure. Hesitation did not suit Molly one bit, and Caleb found himself wanting to be there to make sure they never had to be. He could be the hesitant one. He could be the one that thought too much. _“Ja,”_ he said, leaning toward them, thinking of that over and over. Gods, he wanted. He wanted it all, and he wanted to give them all. He wanted to be, them both to be, together, like before but _more_. The thing they had built, he wanted to keep at it, to make it taller, bigger, wider, greater. He loved them. He loved them too much, he loved them just enough. _“Ja,_ I can do that.”

“Good. You’d better, because I’ve been wanting to kiss you since…” Caleb didn’t let them finish, surging forward, crashing their lips together. Their noses bumped painfully, and their teeth clacked. It was far from perfect, careless and sloppy and not what one usually imagines as the first kiss with their love. But it was theirs.

And as they separated, giggling breathlessly at each other, with Molly nuzzling against his forehead and looping their tail around his middle, Caleb thought that maybe, perhaps, hopefully, everything would work out.

Or, at the very least, he was going to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was hard to write haha....
> 
> Anyway. The epilogue is almost done and should be up this weekend.
> 
> Find me on tumblr as moonbunnywrites!
> 
> Thank you for the read and stay safe!


	6. Epilogue: You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endings and Beginnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a last little sweet bit to end this.
> 
> Enjoy!

_834 P.D.  
_ _Winter_

The time to waltz had come. Caleb stood backstage dressed and ready and unrecognizable. He was dressed in warm color, detailed with gold trim and sparkling, brassy thread. Clean-shaven and head done up in braids, he felt truly like he was on his way to a ball. Molly, meanwhile, sported mostly whites and silvers, stars hung from their billowing sleeves, constellations all over their outfit. Opposites: the sun and the moon, fire and ice.

To everyone’s surprise, Caleb found himself strangely calm. He listened to Ornna’s music swell, signaling the mid-point of her act. Soon it would be their turn and he, truly, felt no nerves at all. Beside him, Molly twitched and took a step closer to him, taking his hand and squeezing hard. Their tail twitched nervously. Unable to stay put, they turned to the wizard, carefully fussing over his hair, and straightened their outfit. “Ah,” he said suddenly, making them jump.

“What? What? Did you forget something?”

He smiled, teasing. “How the tables have turned, Mollymauk. Look at you. Nervous.” A pout answered him, as well as a light tap to his side, done with their tail.

“I don’t get it!” They were shushed by Bo, who stood nearby, eyeing them warningly. Molly proceeded to stage whisper instead, still too loud. “How are you, a skittish cat of a man, so calm?”

Caleb hummed, considering, as he took the tiefling by the jaw, holding them still. “I have a theory.” Carefully, one hand went up to their horns, freeing a couple of charms from each other. “I am actually so, so nervous, that I’ve jumped all the way around the moon and came back calmer than ever. I’ve transcended nervousness. This is my new power.”

That made them smile, big and bright and with too much fight. Caleb’s heartbeat picked up, just a bit faster. “And will you overthrow the monarchy with your new powers?

“Nothing of the sort.” He sniffed, as haughty as he could fake. “I’ll just go for the academia, read all the books and use all the paper in the empire. No one will dare stop me.”

It would never get old, he thought, the way Molly looked at him, fond and soft, with a healthy sprinkle of exasperation mixed in. They leaned towards him, pressing their cheeks together. A horn bumped against his temple. “Only you would ignore all the gold and power in favor of some books,” they whispered, nuzzling against his side, as Caleb looped his arms around their middle.

“Priorities.”

They stayed like that, as the music from the main ring began to slow and quiet. Beside them came a couple snickers, as two others joined in their hug, arms surrounding them around their upper legs. “Ready, love birds?” asked Yuli, as Mona jumped on the balls of her feet, making them all sway. Molly tried their damnedest not to cackle, with little success, as Bo groaned nearby.

“Ready,” the tiefling answered, sing-songy and lilting and confident. A relief for Caleb, whose stomach was beginning to drop. As the twins released them, they began to walk towards their entry point, hands clasped together.

 _Four minutes,_ Caleb told himself. Ornna exited through the other side of the stage opposite them, amongst claps and cheers. He thought of Yasha, quietly and tenderly working on both their hair-dos less than an hour ago, before attending her duties guarding the door. _Three minutes._ Gustav made his appearance, speaking loud and clear, weaving a story for their enthralled patrons. Above the stage, a small, cloaked figure took her position on the rafters. Caleb knew Nott would be there if he needed her, armed with buckets of water to rain from above. He trusted her more than anyone to watch their backs. _Two minutes._ A small tug pulled at Caleb’s coat tails.

Toya gazed up at him, beckoning him down with her hand. Caleb didn’t hesitate, kneeling before her. Carefully, she grabbed at his head, directing him lower, as she tucked a small white flower into one of his braids. “Good luck,” she whispered, hurrying around him to tuck a bright red poppy into Molly’s pocket, then running off to prepare for her own act.

 _One minute._ Caleb stood beside his dance partner, breathing in deeply. Their hands found each other, fingers interlocked. Molly brought them up long enough to plant a kiss on Caleb’s knuckles. “We’ll do great,” they whispered against his fingers.

 _“Ja,”_ Caleb answered. _“Ja,_ we will.”

They stepped out together into the light, along with the first notes of their waltz.

* * *

Fire swirled around them, artful and carefully guided, expertly controlled.

Caleb had worked through it for months, first on his own, making slight tweaks to their path, ensuring a steady path. Always gentle and precise. Molly had come in then, once the craft was mastered, and had given it all the spark of passion and creativity, along with the flourish of a true performer. ‘ _A sputter here_ ,’ they had said, ‘ _and then a burst of sparks. Make it look alive. Like a wild thing.’_ Caleb hadn’t disappointed them.

They spun together, stepping around each other, leaning back and gaining speed as a circle of fire formed around them only to rise into harmless embers. With each step Caleb took, short-lived tufts of flame sprung up like grass. With each flourish of their coats, sparks shot out. With each successful trick, Caleb grew more confident, less stiff, and Mollymauk relished this. Thrived in it, really.

Of course, when the time came for them to switch control, for the tiefling to guide, they took the chance to show off. They spun Caleb quicker, trusting him to add his flames at the right moment regardless, and when the time came to dip him, of course, _of course_ , they dared to go much lower that necessary. With an impish smile adorning their face, they leaned in quick, planting a playful, light kiss directly on his lips. Not one to be outdone, Caleb blew harmless amber sparks around them.

Their dance continued, all spins and sways and glides as they got impossibly closer together. They took space, they showed off, and they enjoyed it. Playing had been an important part of their plan, after all. ‘ _Let’s improvise always,’_ Molly had told him, _‘I want you to have fun, above all else.’_ Molly laughed as Caleb switched them once again, taking the chance to spin them and then pull them toward him, fast, as if he could take a moment away from them.

They were the sun and the moon at that moment, after all. Gravity was a given. And if it felt true, who was to know but them?

With a last turn and a tug, Caleb spun Mollymauk away, twice, setting them up for a flourishing finish, like he had done all those months ago in an attempt to flirt. They did not waste the opportunity, ending their twirling with a pose, arms outstretched, smiling wide. Caleb had been expecting them to be looking at the audience, beaming at them, but that was not the case. Molly’s smile was for him, eyes crinkling at the corners and nose scrunched up, mid laugh. It squeezed his heart in the best, most pleasant of ways.

Caleb smiled back at them, breathing hard, and he lifted their joined hands in a slight bow, ducking his head. Among the excited claps that ensued, Molly did their now-signature combination of curtsy and bow.

As they walked off, arms wound together and leaning on each other, fire still in Caleb’s step, he thought: of all the questionable decisions he could have made, having an act with Mollymauk had to be the absolute best.

* * *

Drinks had started pouring as soon the audience began standing up to leave. Gustav had been flustered at this, barely having time to enter the backstage area before a large mug of ale was being pressed to his hand. He laughed pretty soon after, attempting to bottom’s up, only to fail miserably, spitting and coughing.

It was a done thing, apparently. With every successful debut of an act came a wild night-long party, with dancing and singing and eating and drinking until dawn.

Caleb had stayed in the middle of it for all of half an hour before making his escape. He sat on his own atop an unmoving cart, his usual one. Music filtered from the nearby celebration the rest of his friends were enjoying, cheap drinks surely flowing like rivers if their laughter was anything to go by. He stared up at the cloudy night sky, all black and dark blue and grey, the full moon peeking from behind the covers from time to time. It was cold. Perhaps it would snow soon.

He enjoyed the cool breeze for a moment, only stirring once a warm cloth was dropped over him, covering his head, followed by a familiar cackle and flop beside him. “You’ll freeze out here on your own,” Molly told him, righting the blanket and draping it snugly around his shoulders.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve told me I’m a furnace before.”

“Ah-ah.” Smiling, the tiefling leaned to bump their shoulders together. “Only in the mornings. Also, only when it’s convenient for me, clearly.” Caleb laughed, a small, secret thing that only surfaced when they were on their own. “Everyone was wondering where you were. Wanted to congratulate you. You missed Yuli falling on her face when she and Mona tried to do our finishing move.”

Leaning slightly, Caleb found a comfortable spot on Molly’s shoulder to lay his head, sighing. A hand came up to brush his hair almost immediately, deftly undoing braids and removing pins, freeing his messy not-quite-curls. “Needed a breather.”

“I know, dear,” they told him, pressing their lips to his hair, holding him there for a long moment before ducking slightly and pressing their forehead to the crown of his head. “I know.”

A comfortable silence fell over them. Caleb thought, not for the first time, that if time stopped right then, he would be satisfied. He had many things to do, he knew. Many things waited for him, things which needed fixing and redeeming and _changing —_ he never forgot, not for a second — but sitting there, with Mollymauk holding him close, at least pushed all that pressure to the back of his mind.

They were many things to each other now, things he couldn’t even name, and he doubted Molly even wanted to name them themself, but it somehow worked. It worked, and Caleb hoped, _prayed,_ that it would keep working. He was certainly going to try his damnedest, even if he still felt like he didn’t deserve such a good, warm thing in his life. He could at least work for it.

Eventually their silence broke as Molly sighed, straightening up. Caleb followed, looking at them, questions dying on his lips at the expression on the tiefling. It was serious, it was determined and, also, it was full of fondness and a heat he could barely describe. “I’ve been thinking,” they said.

“Oh, no.”

With a laugh, Molly took his hand slowly, too gently, and kissed each of his knuckles, then turned it palm up, examining the lines from his wrist to the tips of his fingers. “First time I saw you, Caleb, your fingers were blue.” Blunt claws caressed the paths formed over his skin, red-on-red eyes following closely. “Once we got you in bed, nice and tucked in, first thing I did was ask for warm water.” They laughed once more, a little breathless, a little sad. “I didn’t know how to fix frozen fingers, to be honest, but I did spend a few hours trying to warm yours up.”

Caleb stared. Stared at how Molly traced the lines on his palm, barely touching, sending pleasant little shivers up his arm. When they spoke again, it was barely a whisper. “I’m so glad I did. I would do it all over again. I would spend years doing that and nothing else, just for more chances to do this.” They kissed his fingers, the very tips this time, even if his nails were still caked with soot from their waltz.

“You understand what I’m saying, Caleb?”

Words caught in his throat. He worked his mouth to say it, what he had come to realize all those months ago, and yet, the words didn’t come out, couldn’t come out. This did not deter the tiefling one bit.

“I’m saying that I love you. And that you don’t get to decide if you deserve that or not. I’m telling you that you do. And I’ll repeat it until you believe me.” Then he was being pulled, still so gently, and Molly was letting his hand go in favor of holding his jaw, cradling his head with just enough strength to press their foreheads together. “I love you.” Caleb closed his eyes, unable to make eye contact anymore. Molly simply nuzzled his forehead like a cat would, bumping their noses in the process and laughing light and liltingly. “I love you.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. So, he placed his hands on Molly’s hip. He didn’t pull or push, just held. There were tears on his cheeks being brushed away. Nothing had ever been so soft as that moment. Not even _before_. He would cherish it forever, he knew, come what may. He would store it not in his perfect memory, but in his heart, as he slowly stitched it back together.

He took a deep breath. Leaned in, lips against lips, finally. Molly smelled like rosemary and lavender, but sweeter, and so, so warm. Neither of them pushed to deepen the kiss, but they also did not part, not until breathing became difficult. Even then, their foreheads stayed pressed together, blue eyes lost in red-on-red ones.

And Caleb whispered, only for Molly to hear.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand it is done!
> 
> Thank you all so much for the support! I wasn't expecting such a warm reception, honestly. All that love meant so, so much to me. You have no idea how encouraging it was, so expect to see me around, for sure!
> 
> I have a few new ideas floating around already, one in this same AU, so be on the lookout for more of my mess really, really soon.
> 
> I also want to say thank you to Chai_Teafling for proofreading this whole thing and always being so nice about it.
> 
> Look for me on tumblr as moonbonniewrites, or ask for my discord, I'm always happy to talk.
> 
> See you around!  
> -Bonnie


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